


My Sunshine

by Sifter401



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: A Decent Amount of Action, F/F, Graphic Depictions of Substance Abuse, angsty, very violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 162,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sifter401/pseuds/Sifter401
Summary: A wanderer broken by loss meets a ruffian broken by apathy, and the two discover what happens when polar opposites journey on a quest to save a grieving mother's son.





	1. A Change in the Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, there! This is my first time posting to this site, so I'm still getting a hold of the interface, so forgive me for now if I massively fuck up formatting. Anyways, should probably mention I'm going to majorly change story events, but it's not quite an alternate universe, so I'm not labeling it as such. I've also switched around a few details (like the default caliber of the combat rifle, simply because .45 rifle ammo isn't as popular in the real world as it is in game) so that certain things make more sense. I'm not going to necessarily change game mechanics or anything, just tweak a few things here and there. If it ends up as too much, tell me and we'll compromise. Anyways, I think this first chapter is pretty weak compared tot he others I've written, but after hours of toiling, I've resigned to release it as it is. Might rework it at a later date. Let me know what you think of it and enjoy!

A terrified screech was expelled from the man’s lips as a German Shephard closed the gap and lunged with a snarl that would strike cold terror into the most fearless of super mutants. The man grizzled by time and the wasteland had lived for twenty-something years in this Hell, though the harsh realities of post-nuclear survival left him looking to be in his mid-forties. A plate of rusty, orange steel punched with bullet holes “protected” his torso, held snug with frayed cord and creaking chains. His left shin wore armor of the same variety, as did his left forearm, but faded rawhide wrapped around his right appendages. He wore no hat, stringy strands of crusty black falling to his shoulders, and the face was scarred and weathered by creatures of all origins.

But none of that mattered now; the growling beast was at his throat, pearly white canines sinking deep into his flush and tearing muscle. The thing thrashed his head side-to-side, his jugular ripping brutally. The raider working freelance for Bosco the Lunatic desperately attempted to free himself from the maws already tainted with gore from his fellow sentries, filthy hands scrabbling vainly at the snout of the monster. After what felt an eternity but was likely just a few seconds, the strength bled from his throat and he lay limply, coughing through the puddles of blood pooling in his lungs. The furry thing released him from his vice grip, though agony still gripped him tightly. It was only now that the scavenger noticed the red bandana around the scruffy neck, the cracked aviator goggles wrapped around his head. If he wasn’t dying, he would’ve laughed at such a sight.

His hands tried raise to his ravaged esophagus, but no matter how hard he willed they wouldn’t obey; he was too far gone. As if to mock his struggles, rain quietly began to patter against his roguish mug, and the dampness around his throat spread everywhere as water soaked him through and through. He cried softly, because of the pain and because of the unfairness of meeting his end at twenty-three years old. He didn’t want to die, not here where he was surrounded on three sides by red brick, the open end spilling out into the deserted streets. He hadn’t the energy or the spirit to raise and fight for his life.

So he did the only thing he could do: tilt his head and glare at the approaching figure, and at that savage dog who’d killed him. The master of the murderous pooch strolled until the person- he couldn’t tell if they were male or female- halted beside him and stared down. A long, beige, leather trench coat hung from a sturdy frame, combat boots peeking from under the stained cloak. Fingerless gloves clutched a double-barrel shotgun, and attached to a backpack bulging with supplies were various other long weapons of fiendish design.

The face that stared blankly down at him was almost completely obscured. A hat he’d sworn he’d seen in those museums boasting items from the Revolutionary War topped the head, and aviator shades covered eyes. The nose and mouth were shrouded with a black bandanna sporting a white, grinning skull, and other than little spots of exposed, Caucasian flesh here and there, the face was entirely masked. Tresses of red dangled down beside her ears, and the brief flash of stark color was distracting. With the figure closer, he could more accurately examine their form. Though they were well built and tall, very tall, and bundled beneath many layers, the faintly pronounced chest, longer hair, and overall physique betrayed the stranger’s gender.

Beaten by a woman. Man or woman, it didn’t matter who he killed or who killed him; some of the fiercest survivors he’d accompanied had been ladies, and that fiery redhead indoors kicked everyone’s ass, regardless of what swung between their legs.

The woman still stared. The dark sky silhouetted her imposing form, raindrops splashing upon every surface but she didn’t acknowledge the precipitation. In fact, she didn’t acknowledge anything. She just stood there soundlessly. Contemplating, perhaps. Her chest didn’t rise and fall. Her body never twitched. Thunder cracked, and she did not flinch; lightening flashed, and yet as the blinding explosion of yellow light momentarily bathed the city in its glory, she remained in the dark, her coat flapping in the wind. She was deathly quiet. She was ethereal and solemn.

She was a ghost.

She finally moved. The specter kneeled, its hand retreating into the cloak to retrieve a silvery object. The knife poised at that spot in his neck, that place that, where punctured, would kill him almost instantly.

But it hesitated, the sharp tip teasing the skin there with the bittersweet release of death. He wanted her to do it, to plunge the knife and end his misery. All of his woes would be forgotten, his troubles nonexistent, his pain extinguished. He wanted her to do it, _needed_ her to do it, but the phantom denied him this wish. It was torture, taunting his inability to finish it himself, and in this one moment he hated her.

Why, _why_ wasn’t she stabbing him and ending his worthless life?! Why did she torment him so?! What reason could she possibly have for drawing out this execution?! He tried to scream in rage, and instead he gurgled pitifully.

If he could sigh, he would’ve as the wraith finally showed mercy, freezing steel skewering his throat, and less than a second later, blackness clouded his vision as the soft tendrils of death pulled him under.

The man’s body relaxed. He was dead.

The woman wiped the blade on the raider’s pants, then tucked the combat knife away. Her hands fastidiously searched his body for goodies. Several magazines of .38 rounds. A carrot. A dull pocketknife. None of it interested her, but she nabbed the ammo to sell it later.

She stood. The dog trotted around beside her and whined. The stranger looked down, and a single hand stretched out and ruffled the fur atop his head. It whimpered appreciatively, leaning into its master as its ears were scrunched and scratched.

“Good boy, Dogmeat.” The voice was husky and gruff, but still possessed enough femininity to pass as a woman’s. Dogmeat licked the stranger’s hand, then looked forward and growled at the double doors. His master mimicked him, clutching the long gun to her chest.

So this was the fabled Combat Zone. She’d been ordered to keep a wide berth, but curiosity bested her sense of self preservation.

Besides, the woman only lived to kill now. Her husband was dead. Shot in the skull by some bald fuck with a fancy revolver. After that, to add insult to injury, he’d confiscated her infant son and swept him to away to places unknown. Gasping for breath, shivering from the frosty cold, she’d stumbled clumsily from her cryogenic sarcophagus, tears trailing down porcelain cheeks and heart rent in three. A vow to avenge Nathan, a promise to recover her son, an animalistic desire to stay alive; all had birthed that wretched day in that mass grave of pre-war citizens. Heading for the city center, she’d hoped to find survivors, but those she’d found possessed a penchant for speaking in bullets instead of words. Diamond City, the largest shantytown she’d seen yet, had borne no fruit: her son wasn’t there, and the “synth” detective that could help her track him down was M.I.A. For two hundred years she’d spent suspended in her subconscious. For four months she’d scoured the ruins of Boston, chasing rumors and snippets that could possibly hold the slightest connection to her baby boy, but nothing yielded results.

The trail had gone cold, and so had she. It had been two months ago when she’d sampled her first chem. The drugs- fumes bottled in a red inhaler- had brought her so much calm and peace. Before the “Great War”, as they called it, she’d never dreamed of touching such a corrupting substance, but now, in her well of despair, she required something else to help her float to the top.

It had all been over too quickly, that wonderful high had disappeared. So she took another. And another. And another. She’d wheezed, bleeding profusely from the nose, but the benefit exceeded the price. The junkie she’d bought the substances from had dared to suggest she take a break. She’d suggested for him to shut up and hand her more product. He hadn’t, stating that, “If you keel over now, I’ll lose a paying customer.”

She’d lodged a bullet in his brain without hesitation. Last she’d seen of him, his body was gently descending to the depths of the Charles, ankles chained to a heavy boulder. His chems hadn’t sunk with him though. Those were consumed just as quickly.

She’d lain there almost comatose, her heartbeat struggling to pump blood through her arteries, glaring at the sky with hazy eyes, the wooden boards of the harbor groaning beneath her. It was then that she accepted her fate. It was then that she’d realized she’d never see her little Shaun again, never get to stare into blue, innocent eyes, never smile at the sound of his mirthful laughter. She’d never cuddle into the warmth of Nate again, never dance to Atom Bomb Baby and swoon in his powerful arms, never recite their bright plans for a bright future. Her ducts wanted to shed tears, but she had none left to cry.

Ever since then, her existence had been a game. How much longer could she last, shoving toxic shit into her arms and sucking down pills and alcohol like a child would skittles and root beer? Who would fire the final bullet that would pass through her brain and splatter her thoughts across the walls? Or would it be her lung that would fill with her own blood? Perhaps her liver would give out, leaving its drunken host decaying in some back alley? She didn’t look it, but she was excited to find out.

Here she was, doused by the ominous showers, running eyes up and down cracks and splinters in the door. She rolled her shoulders, cricked her neck, and opened the door.

 

**ooooo**

 

She’d expected to walk into a hail of gunfire, but nothing came. The stranger stood in the foyer of what was once a theater, carpet littered with trash and garbage. Before her were two more sets of double doors identical to the ones she’d just entered through. On her right, receptacles lay on their sides, and ornate brass pillars, now smudged with fallout, rose from mountains of debris, their velvet ropes swaying gently from the draft of the open entrance.

The left was much more interesting. The old ticket station, a booth shielded by a wall of glass panes connected with a wooden frame, had been converted into a holding cell. On jerry-rigged platforms crafted from old, oaken doors kneeled two persons in ragtag apparel, their hands bound behind them. One was a man and the other a woman, both stripped of armor and with burlap sacks over their heads. These bags weren’t marred by eyeholes, however, and the duo shifted nervously as the stranger neared. Inscribed with chalk on a plank next to the booth door were the words, “RULE BREAKERS.” Spelled correctly, she noticed, impressed. An arrow pointed toward the offenders, as if the label wasn’t enough. Inside the cell, the three rules- “NO FIGHTING OUTSIDE THE CAGE!” “NO CAPS? NO ENTRY!” and “NO BEGGING! NO LOITERING!”-  were fastened above the rule-breakers’ heads, also written in chalk upon oaken boards.

The female captive spoke suddenly. “I can hear you! You better fuck off, or they’ll getcha!” The tone was shrill and defiant, unsuccessfully trying to keep her terror in check.

“Lynn, shut the fuck up!” the guy hissed frightfully.

“And why should I huh? Huh?!” the other shrieked nervously.

“I can give you a reason to hush up,” the stranger interjected, annoyed. After clacking- with frustration, as computers had never been her strong suit- at the keys of the terminal beside the ticket counter, a mechanical _clunk!_ resounded as the tumbler retracted. Her bootfalls startled both of them with their proximity as she entered the cell, clomped up the stairs, and sauntered in front of the female.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” the other woman fearfully demanded.

The stranger yanked the sack from the woman’s head. The captive cringed, but stared up at the wanderer with anxiety. The stranger stood there for a moment, rummaging through her coat before she retrieved a green, lumpy object.

The stranger allowed the woman to inspect the item, noting how confused expression when she identified it as a grenade. It turned to bewildered panic as she dramatically pulled the pin, never breaking eye contact.

“What the fuck- get that away! You’ll kill us all!” The captive shielded her face and leaned away.

Seconds passed. Nothing.

The female raider tentatively turned back around. The pin had been discarded, but the safety lever remained intact- it couldn’t detonate, not yet at least. The stranger ignored the other rule-breaker’s demands to know what was happening, and leaned in.

A thumb from her right pried the woman’s jaw open.

“The Hell-?” she spluttered.

The stranger shoved the bomb into the maw of the captive, positioning it just so that if the woman opened her mouth, the lever would detach. The captive realized what it meant, and that indignant smirk turned to unadulterated horror.

“Mm mm! Mm mmmm!!” she squealed and vigorously shook her head, but the stranger was deaf to her cries for mercy. She roughly shoved the sack back into place, and suddenly, the woman was completely silent.

“Lynn? Lynn?!” the man uneasily prompted. He received the stock of the shotgun the stranger carried to his temple as a response, and he collapsed to the ground. Not a peep from either of them. Satisfied, she exited the booth, stalking past a quivering, blinded woman and a moaning man.

The fools silenced, she could finally think. A loud, muffled clamor from the room ahead indicated that there were many enemies waiting. She wouldn’t have it any other way. She lowered to her knees, slung off her pack, and took inventory of her available supplies before she either slaughtered everyone or was slaughtered by everyone.

The first weapon under examination was the one she held in her palms. The firearm was a side-by-side double-barreled shotgun rigged to shoot 10 gauge, double-aught buckshot. A long barrel preceded the receiver and a full stock crafted from solid, lacquered oak. She thumbed the lever, and the gun hinged at the break, the breech spitting out two shells. She inspected these and the rest of the ammunition for the shotgun, then stowed the weapon away to the holster at her hip.

Next up was the only other long gun, a combat rifle whose sights had been crudely dotted with glowing, radioactive material. Its barrel was long with a wooden stock and metal grip. She pulled the bolt back, examining the mechanisms that made it go boom before doing the same to the magazine fitted to hold twenty rounds of 5.56x45mm NATO cartridges. She eyed the bullets, then chamber a round with dramatic flair. The stranger stashed the brass and sheathed the rifle on her backpack.

The pistol toting at her right hip was retrieved. She thumbed the magazine release and checked the twelve 10mm bullets that nested there. She scrutinized the thing, regarding the simple, rubber grip, pivoting the hammer, locking the slide, and testing the trigger sensitivity. When she completed her evaluation, she reinserted the magazine and released the slide.

She holstered that, then displayed the smooth blade of a machete, a standard, serrated military-grade knife, and pocketknife with spring-tripped blade. Three grenades intruded upon the picture, along with an assortment of chems. She preferred not to fight while under the influence, but when she tried to slip the knife into its sheath, her hand quavered so extremely, she resigned her conscience.

There was Jet, the drug that started it all. The ecstasy that usually flooded her limbs had long ago disappeared. But her old speed resurrected, and she could breathe easier.

The surge of strength of Bufftats gave her brought her up to normal self, as the effect of the muscular agent had died as well.

The sudden spike of perception in her five senses from Mentats was absent as well, only now her vision was crisp and clear, that odd, high-pitched buzz had vanished, and everything no longer smelled of oranges.

She felt no unrequited fury as the sharp prick of the syringe injected Psycho, just an unempathetic exasperation at the slightest inconvenience. However, it was the only emotion she felt- the crushing sorrow was gone- so she was happy enough.

Med-X did lift some of the pain of her more minor nicks and lacerations, but she wasn’t entirely numb like she used to be.

Dogmeat whimpered disapprovingly as he always did when she shot up in front of him, and the concerned, dopey look didn’t abandon those eyes when his head was petted.

Buzzed and ready to kill, she threw the drained syringes to some dark corner, grasped her 10mm, and inhaled as steadily as she could. Her left hand on the knob, her right at the ready, and Dogmeat prepared to enter first, she cautiously cracked opened the door and stepped inside.

 

 **ooooo**  

 

The air smelled of piss and puke, and the atmosphere was dimly lit, dank, and loud. There weren’t as many as she thought there were, but there were still a lot, and they chanted and cheered and booed with ear-splitting decibels.

Dogmeat whined, and the stranger lowered to pat his ears. “It’s ok, Dogmeat, it’s just noise.”

Fingers grasped the shades from her eyes and stowed them away into some pocket.

She noticed the stage first. Where sonnets where once recited and dramatic works acted out with zeal stood a giant, crude cage constructed of metal pipes and scaffolding. The stage lights were repaired and projected their brilliant white light all over the curtains, the bloodstained backdrop, and the “cage” itself.

Confined within the dented bars groaning beneath their own weight were two pit fighters. The first was the average marauder, a male in a leather jacket with a gas mask covering his features. He wielded a pipe which he swung wildly with little coordination or logic dictating his moves.

The second was very different. She was female, with red, scraggly hair similar to hers in hue. She was wiry and gaunt, but looks were obviously deceiving. While her strikes with a wooden slugger were wide and telegraphed into next week, they were clearly for show. It seemed that even today, two hundred years after professional wrestling, the entertainers still catered to the audience with fantastic displays of scripted violence.

Narrating the fight was the person she assumed to be Tommy, throwing colorful commentary as the warriors threw blows. After hearing a few lines, the stranger could swear she detected something in his tone. Every time the redhead scored a hit, there was just a little more enthusiasm, with an almost undetectable trace of pride, in his voice then than when the bumbling idiot landed anything. Tommy had a favorite.

The floor was angled downward, as all theater floors were, and most of the auditorium nesting had been ripped from the ground and thrown into piles on either side. There once was a second upper level, but a gaping hole occupied most of it save the perimeter hugging the walls. To the right, a sheet of corrugated steel ramped in an incline slightly upwards until it met the roof of a flimsy-looking shack. Past that was a walkway leading to the set of stairs that ascended the short distance to the hole in the upper seating. She could see two shacks of plywood and metal up above, and her eyes traveled round till she spied a similar design on the left; that is, a ramp leading to a roof that suspended a walkway until a set of stairs connected the roof and the hole in floor two. The little huts all seemed to be bars, empty and half-empty bottles of brown and green scattered across countertops, flickering neon signs sparking and posing a possible fire hazard. She averted her gaze down the slope, noticing it eventually flattening out to give way to a mosh pit.

A quick head count.

Four men in makeshift armor falling apart at the seams enjoyed their beer a little too much, if the bartender’s exasperated expression was anything to go by.

So far, there were 5.

Sitting in chairs or crazily rooting at the edge of the stage were eleven more men and women, most with lead pipes or dull blades at their sides while the rest carried homemade guns so inaccurate, throwing the bullets they fired would likely have a higher chance of hitting what they wanted to.

11 and 5 make 16.

In the balcony above, five chanted in the center, two in the smaller shack to the left, and four partied hard in the hut to the far right.

That makes 27.

Five more lonely raiders separated themselves from the pack, bringing the grand total to 32 armed, angry, intoxicated enemies.

She was formulating a plan of attack when the woman in the ring finished her opponent in a barbarically spectacular fashion, triggering the ghoul announcer to name the woman- dubbed “Cait,” though the stranger had no idea if that was a stage name- as the undefeated champion.

Then the one person she didn’t want to spot her finally noticed fresh meat.

“Aaaaand what’s this? Aaaa new contestant? Well folks- wait a minute, who are you?” The man blared, unwittingly alerting her presence to all 32 raiders in the building. “Lady, I’d find some cover quick!” he advised in that signature Bostonian accent.

The stranger didn’t patiently wait for every head to turn and stare at her before she moved. She wasted no time assuming her stance: her feet were shoulder-width apart, right just slightly behind the heel of the left and cocked outward at a forty-five degree angle. Her knees flexed as he lowered herself and bent forward, keeping her shoulders square. Her arms stuck straight out to form a sort of isosceles triangle, hands at the apex clutching the pistol, the glow sights aligning.

Dogmeat growled, awaiting a command.

Her first targets were the raiders above. She needed to clear the people who could shoot over her cover if she wanted a reasonable chance of walking away. The front bead lined, steadied, and then the weapon fired at the first of the five in a line above. A deafening gunshot was dampened thanks to the amphitheaters padded wall, and a brief flash of light seared through the darkness as the explosion traveled down the rifled barrel. They’d been standing relatively still, and as she pulled the trigger, the point man’s head jerked backward and he crumbled.

She did the same for the second, shifting ever so slightly to frame a confused head twisting to look at her, hammer pounding the firing pin, weapon shuddering, a hot shell flinging from the ejection port, and his cranium jerked as well. She’d nearly missed, and so she aimed lower. The rest were aware of her presence, and with practiced precision she fired three times, all three squarely penetrating through whatever cheap plates they wore to pierce the general area just left of the center of their sternums. Thankfully, they all succumbed to their wounds then and there, she fired no more at the men above.

She needed to move. The berserkers of the mosh pit were advancing, and she needed an aerial perspective. 5 were down in seconds, but that still left 27. There was nowhere for her to seek refuge from the impending hailstorm of bullets in the immediate vicinity other than the bar to the left, so she sprinted and vaulted the thing, a giant furry body nimbly following suit and dropping low beside her.

She peeked her head up to glance at where she wanted to end up, and was forced to duck again as lead ricocheted across the metal table. The stranger had collected the information she needed though: the walkway and stairs leading to where she wanted to be were out in the open. She needed to move now, lest she give her enemies time to develop a plan of attack, but she couldn’t just bolt over a clearing. All the while, she’d slipped a box of 10mm shells out of her pack, and after refilling the current magazine and reloading the pistol, casually tucked it away. She had twelve bullets to work with, now.

Fortunately for her, the pounding of feet approaching her solved her problem. The gunfire quelled; the berserkers were here. 7 of them rushed her position, all carrying knives, pipes, long blades, and interestingly enough, pool cues. Her meat shields had arrived. As long as she stay close to them, their friends wouldn’t shoot at her. Probably. She hoped.

The first man was faster than the others, and had made decent distance. That was his own mistake. As he neared the bar, she vaulted the countertop, exposing herself but as she’d predicted, no one fired. Her booted feet slammed into his chest, and she landed on her feet. Weapon close to her body, so that a random lucky swing wouldn’t disarm her, she stepped until she was only feet away, and placed a slug in the dazed man’s hand. He screamed as the larger round destroyed his wrist, and he instantly dropped the pipe above his head, previously poised to strike.

But adrenaline is a hell of a drug, and the will to live was strong in this one. He swung wild punches, and as he attempted a random hook, she stepped in, blocked it with her forearm, and smashed the butt of the handle into his nose. Bone crunched, and he screeched again, and she shut him up with another of the same, this one much more powerful and aimed at the area between the eyes. When it collided, his head snapped back and he staggered backwards into the aisle before unceremoniously falling on his spine, hard. A brain hemorrhage would spell the end of him, and now that he was dealt with she could focus on the 6 others, a mere ten feet between them.

They sprinted fast and were almost to her when a beast leaped to intercept, letting loose a bloodcurdling series of barks and snarls. Out of reflex, they all halted, comically bumping into each other as the instinctive terror of a predator stopped them in their tracks. Eventually they all realized that they outnumbered the threat, but the damage was done; they were standing still as statues.

Her index finger pulled. The muzzle flash blinded the targets three times, and three new holes appeared in the front three men and women’s foreheads. At such a close range, the slugs powered straight through the layers of flesh, bone, brain, more bone, and more flesh with ease, spraying the opponents behind the front line in a misty, wet shower of blood and skull fragments.

They snapped out of their trance, and as their friends fell dead, they dodged around them. Dogmeat caught one by the arm and distracted him, allowing the stranger to focus on the other two.

The first that would reach her was a large male, a _very_ large male. His right arm grasping a machete swung diagonally from his right. She stood, pistol gripped in both hands, until the last possible moment. She evaded, ducking low and to the left, and as inertia forced him to continue forward, she lodged a bullet in his right kneecap as he passed. His knee exploded into gore, and with a scream of pain he collapsed clutching his knee.

He wasn’t currently a threat, so she shifted attention to the woman behind him. She was trying the same maneuver- a diagonal attack with a billiard cue, but she was much smaller than him. As the raider swung, the stranger stepped in and wrapped her arms around the other woman’s underarms, and threw over her over her body, redirecting the aggressor’s momentum into the ground. Stunned and wheezing the poor woman looked straight up into the barrel of the 10mm handgun. The stranger fired the weapon, the muzzle spitting out the smallest traces of gunpowder as the shot pierced her glabellum. The woman’s body shuddered, went limp, then died.

She was going to blow out the brains of the man whom Dogmeat was gripping with his teeth, but she realized suddenly that he was the last one left. If he died, she’d be alone and filled with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese faster than she could say, “Shit.”

Instead, the wanderer grabbed him firmly by the nape of his neck and ran with him as fast as she could. A few stray bullets whizzed by her as she redoubled to walk up the ramp at the top of the theater.

A commotion from the right. Two scavengers had snuck around and were positioned behind the bar she’d just used to shield herself, their weapons readying. A single hand extended, and utilizing exceptional hand-eye coordination, placed a hammer shot in each of their chests without the use of the pistol’s sights. Still on the move, she slowed her pace just enough and lined the front bead on the first’s head, fired, then onto the second’s forehead and fired again. The ratty carpet erupted as bullets slammed into the floor, and her backpack bucked several times as it shielded her from harm. However, she surmised her ego was more damaged than the contents, and she decided the time to kick it in the ass was now.

The stranger only had two bullets left in the magazine, so she was as careful as one could be running across open ground with a hostage. She’d reached the ramp, and as she began her ascent she shifted her grip to grab the rear of his collar as she shoved him forward.

They took potshots at her, trying to discourage her as she approached, gradually surrounding her to save their endangered comrade. She was traveling up the left pathway now, the shack just ahead of her her acting destination. There were 19 left, including the man she viciously commandeered right now.

Even though she had protection, she still felt incredibly vulnerable traversing the distance. She realized she required a distraction as the man before her caught a slug in his shoulder for her.

In German, she commanded to her pooch, “ _Distract!_ ”

He understood, and mere seconds later gunfire erupted as Dogmeat averted their attention and ran rampant, bobbing and weaving and occasionally stopping to rip open a jugular. It seemed the entire population of the pit below was centered around the murderous cur harassing their ranks.

She was so close to the hut, but she noticed two shadows idly swaying through the cracks. She remembered seeing 2 raiders holed up in her peaceful scan that seemed so long ago, and she chose to use her two remaining rounds to clear the chanty. Her pistol spat loudly twice, adding to the cacophony of gunfire in the building. The 10mm bullet punched through the flimsy material and the shadows twitched, then fell raucously.

The stranger had arrived. Unfortunately, her hostage was not dumb, and he had recognized the locked position of the slide of her weapon. A loud grunt, and he swung the back of his arm randomly, trying to swat the stranger away. She’d seen the mutiny coming though, and ducked. He faced her now, back to the wall of the shack, and without warning she jabbed the muzzled of the pistol into his throat. His eyes bulged and his meaty hands reflexively darted to protect his aching throat that clamped on air like a vice.

She watched him struggle against the steel panel, exchanging magazines and placing the empty in her pack, for magazines were almost rarer than caps in the wasteland. She thumbed the slide release, reassumed the stance momentarily to shove the barrel in his face, and fired.

The stranger pressed against the wall spattered with red, checking her weapon to ensure that the muzzle wasn’t clogged with stringy carnage, then refocused and scanned. Dogmeat was missing, but based on the surviving raider’s tense demeanor that remained ignorant to her presence above them, he wasn’t dead yet.

She counted the corpses down low, finding three fresh among the old. She’d killed… And he’d killed… So together, that made… There were 13 left.

She eyed the shack across the way through a crevice between planks of wood and metal, noting how there were still 4 clustered around the hut- 2 inside, 1 in the doorway, and 1 outside- and all of their guns pointed her way. That was ok; as long as they were focused on her they wouldn’t move. She fondled a grenade from the belt beneath her trench coat. She fingered the loop and pulled the pin, the lever clattering to the floor, and she expertly arced it, the explosive skittering into the house.

A pause as they deduced what she’d just done.

“ _Grenade!_ ”

The 2 inside tried to escape, but the stranger plugged the door guard with a single, quick shot to center mass. The slumped body blocked their exit, and not a second later a thunderous shockwave tore the shack to shreds. Shrapnel flew everywhere, and the redhead ducked back behind her cover as the fragmentation tittered against the steel she leaned on. Her ears rung for a short while afterwards, but she was used to it.

She leaned out again to witness the sole survivor sprinting away, climbing the stairs of the seating in desperate attempt to run from certain death. She steadied her arms against the hut, aligned the front sight with the rear, and gradually applied pressure to the trigger. The weapon bucked, and the running man’s- no, woman’s- torso lurched, a crimson foam ejected from the exit wound and airbrushing the wall in a small, morbid circle.

Alright, so that left 9 combatants alive. She stepped forward, weapon the ready, studying the flurry of movement beneath her when-.

“Hey, bitch! Lookee what I got here!”

She turned toward the stage and stared at death incarnate. A man with a savagely gleeful smile plastered across a painted face shouldered an M42 Tactical Nuclear Catapult. If he fired, there was no feasible way she could dodge the blast, and she concluded that this was her conclusion.

So this was how it would end. Totally incinerated by a smaller version of the thing she’d survived 200 years ago. The stranger could appreciate the tragic irony.

But then Dogmeat, the motherfucking dog, pounced from the shadows in all of his snarling, frothing glory. Just as the warhead was released, her furry savior latched his jaws around the man’s throat. The Fat Man had been redirected, the beast’s master saved from assured oblivion.

However. The balcony had stood for hundreds of years, supporting thousands of pounds of weight at a time, and even after maintenance had died the upper floor had valiantly refused to succumb to its many years of service. After so long, the gallery was hanging by a thread, and the massive, fiery eruption was the pair of shears that snipped the twine. The floor beneath the stranger crumbled away, and suddenly she was falling amidst dusty rubble. She rolled instinctively when she hit the ground, but tumbling across an uneven, jagged surface still hurt.

She lay on her stomach now, her hat drifting downward lazily to follow its mistress on the ground, the neckerchief veiling her eyes. Groaning, she hoisted herself up and surveyed the area after pulling the black cloth from her face. Great, tawny clouds of soot undulated throughout the pit, completely hiding anything below mid-thigh in a rugged, dusty fog, and the others emerged, rising gradually like zombies from the grave, moaning and clutching their heads,

Apparently, only 1 raider had been crushed under heaps of wreckage, because 7 stood still in the foaming sea of dust and filth that pooled like a lake of blood. She searched for her weapon, sifting her hand through the fog of soot and failing to find the pistol. She stood unsteadily, and scrutinized the survivors.

They were gaining their bearings. The stranger needed to act fast. She drew the shotgun from the holster at her hip, brought the stock to her shoulder and picked targets. 2 of the 7 enemies held ranged weapons, and both were beginning to point them at her. She raised her weapon, placed the bead on the first man’s chest, and pulled. The other’s flinched as the deafening report reached all corners of the room, and the butt pushed into the woman hard. The man was knocked off of his feet, and after a quick readjustment and a subsequent single gunshot, so was the second, disappearing into the beige nothingness.

The person nearest her was doubled over, slowly pulling what appeared to be a long shaft of rebar from her stomach. The woman was practically presenting herself to the wanderer, and a few fast strides later, the stranger was at her side. She brought the gun above her head, stock angled downward, and brought upon the nape of the woman’s neck with all of her might. _Crunch!_ and the woman dropped to the floor with a lolling head, rusted length of steel still deeply imbedded in her abdomen.

Footsteps to her left, and she turned to see a man with a hatchet gunning straight for her. On a whim, she tossed the empty weapon into his face. He cried out as it collided with his nose, his palm checking for blood. It gave her just enough time to retrieve her pocketknife, flick the switch, and jab around his arms to stab hilt-deep into his neck. He spluttered- she’d hit that special spot- and the woman shoved him into the person behind him.

The next came out of nowhere, and when she glimpsed something jabbing at her from the peripheral of her left, she jumped to the right and faced a woman furiously skewering the air with a short military knife held in her right hand. Her enemy allowed the stranger no time to recuperate and jabbed again, but this time the redhead was ready. Long before it reached her, her left palm batted down and outward at the forearm. The sharp threat out of the picture, she dexterously flipped the knife to hold it reverse grip and punctured the side of the woman’s neck. She aggressively carved a cavernous, red smile across her throat with a rapid flick of the wrist and pushed her away. Her victim fought till the very end, swinging in the uncoordinated, frenzied way that only a dying person could do as she tripped and disappeared beneath the dissipating cloud of dust.

One last man stood, cowering irresolutely ten feet away.

The stranger didn’t move.

The man ran. Hysterical with dread, his feet pounded against the floor as he hurtled toward the exit.

The wanderer flipped the blade skillfully to pinch the blade by the index and thumb, coiled her arm over her shoulder, and whipped the weapon toward the fleeing opponent. He cried out when it buried itself into his back, and he tripped and face planted. But he didn’t want to die, so he still scrabbled, blood oozing in waves from his mouth and leaving a defined trail up the aisle. She was honestly surprised she’d hit him at all, never mind a bullseye.

His progress was slow; her composed stroll over rubble and ruin brought her to him before he was even halfway to his destination. Her hand reached to her pack and unstrapped the button, the sound of cool metal sliding from the tight confines of a sheath prompting his attempts to become even more hurried and desperate. Alas, his struggles were to no avail, and as she strode up beside him, she maliciously kicked at his face when he turned his head to look up at her with scared, watery eyes.

He halted his movements, curling into the fetal position and sobbing lightly. She could hear a smothered plea, and she waited until he decided to actually tell her what he wanted to say.

Eventually he rose to kneel, and with tearful eyes he begged, “Please, don’t! I have a family, a wife and kids!”

“You didn’t much care whether I had one now, did you?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, n-no, you don’t understand! I-.”

The blade lifted, then slashed horizontally. The steel cleanly severed all tendons, seared through all arteries, and chopped through all bony vertebrae of his neck. The head slithered audibly from the body, tumbling down the piles of debris, and the rest of the man collapsed and twitched endlessly. She studied the steady, thick ribbon of scarlet ejecting from where the man’s head used to reside, counting the seconds until it, and her heartbeat, was but a dull trickle.

Clapping. Slow, melodramatic clapping from the redhead leaning against the cage.

“Consider me impressed.” A thick Irish accent curled the “E”s over the distance and the stranger could see the smirk even from here.

Everyone who needed killing was dead. She sighed, preparing to deal with more bullshit.

 

**ooooo**

 

Tommy Lonegan was a business man at heart. He couldn’t recall a time where that wasn’t a truth, it’d just always been that way. During the recess period of his elementary school in the city, way, _way_ back when the populace of earth was a civilized group of denizens and the roughhousers were locked behind bars instead of patrolling the streets looking for their tasty, humanoid prey, all the little kiddies would rush to him where he’d trade things like toy cars and crayons for dimes and nickels with the ultimate goal of purchasing the idolized Jangles the Moon Monkey doll everyone else had. See, Tommy’s family never possessed much wealth, so the sprouting young lad had to raise the money for his playthings himself, and that monkey was the apple of his eye for longer than he cared to admit. He still had that damn monkey stashed in his personal suitcase, a memento from simpler times.

This, Tommy’s illustrious career in entrepreneurship had sparked, and his fame grew so large it was said that if he stole candy from a baby, he could sell it back for two more pieces. The falling of the bombs hadn’t ended that, and though his family perished he refused to desist in his wheeling-and-dealing ways. He’d built the Combat Zone from the ground up, attracting the barbaric masses to cheer on the blood sport, and he’d made a tidy sum in doing so. Yessir, she certainly was a monumental accomplishment that deserved all of the fame and infamy it received from raiders and setters alike.

And in one fell swoop, all of that what could be classified as a “business” had been destroyed. To say the man was pissed would be the biggest understatement of the century.

But Tommy Lonegan was not a dumb man, an irrational man. He would not scream in the face of someone who’d just massacred twenty- or thirty-something hardened veterans in mere minutes with nothing more than a pistol, a pooch, and a pocketknife. That would effectively be suicide.

“You think they’re done out there?” Tommy feebly questioned his prized fighter, head low, voice lower.

“We don’t want any trouble!” he shouted. His gaze caught sight of the woolly fiend looming over the dead man with the nuke launcher not twenty feet away, strips of the man’s throat lodged between bared pearly whites stained with scarlet. “Not anymore, at least.”

Cait regarded the spokesman with disdain. “Oh, just poke yer head up, ya damn coward!”

“To heck with that! I’m too pretty to go out like this!” Tommy explained indignantly.

The stranger couldn’t resist the smile, if brief and unoticble, at their banter as she plucked the pocketknife from the raider’s leather-clad spine, pressing the safety catch inward and pushing the tip against her thigh so the blade retreated into the handle. Pebbles and rocks were displaced as she slid down the alp formed during the havoc. She trudged over a sandy floor to grab her pistol, and as she picked up the handgun soot funneled from the barrel. She wrote a mental note to clean all of her gear at the first chance she had. She did the same for her hat, brushing off the dust that fell in handfuls from the creases. The woman reclaimed her shotgun, fingering the lever so the break opened and ejected the empty plastic cartridges, and finally reinserted two fresh shells and closing the breach. Glasses reengaged the tip of her nose and the filthy bandanna was reluctantly replaced.

“So ya gonna come up her now, or are you just gonna bash up my theater some more?” the ghoul asked anxiously.

When she passed by the dog and bent to scratch his head, muttering, “Good boy, good boy!” he stopped brooding and instead trotted happily after his owner who was waltzing toward the door of the “cage”.

“Hmm. I kinda liked ya without the mask,” Cait commented as the stranger drew closer.

Dogmeat whined in agreement. Damn that little rascal for wanting the best for her.

“Must not’ve gotten a very good look then,” the cloaked woman replied flatly. A lack of self-esteem was not the cause of such self-deprecation; crippling addiction tended to suck the beauty from a person over time.

Or maybe it was just her?

The woman in front of her was an attractive, relatively short Irishwoman, sporting a red, button-up corset and skin-tight beige jeans ripped at the kneecaps and mid-thighs, and yet the stranger could ping her for an addict a mile away. Tired, veiny eyes, a jittery, jumpy disposition, and red welts on her left upper arm all pointed to extended substance abuse. If she were to hazard a guess, the pain surprising effects of Med-X would be useful in a fight, but that stuff didn’t leave bumps the size of quarters on your skin. No, the aggressive agitation and eyes that endlessly dart to and fro, trying to find something to kill, suggested Psycho. Poor gal; that was some nasty shit, and that was from personal experience.

It was pathetic that she knew these things so completely.

Her canine companion read her thoughts and reassuringly licked her grimy fingers and nuzzled her sore thighs.

“Is it over…? Well, that could’ve gone worse,” Tommy sighed.

Cait chuckled. “I dunno. Seemed like quite the performance from where I was standin’.”

Tommy looked at her incredulously. “Are you fuckin’ high or somethin’?” He grumbled. “Why am I askin’? _Of course_ you are.” The stranger was suddenly grateful that they didn’t know how high she was right now. Bufftats were starting to wear off, everything seeming to take three times the effort even though it was minutes ago that she’d popped the pills. Their shortening length of effectiveness was beginning to get ridiculous.

“I still won the fight, didn’t I?” Cait retorted.

“You’re strung out and sloppy is what you are. Course I suppose that don’t matter anymore. Seems _this_ one just put us out of business,” Tommy replied with an accusatory tone.

Dogmeat growled, waiting for the order to show the fool with the bad hair his place.

“Down boy,” she whispered.

“I’m not apologizing for defending myself,” she informed him.

“Far as I remember, you shot first,” Tommy countered.

The stranger shifted the shotgun in her hands to remind him it was there. Dogmeat shifted too, prepared to leap into battle. “I’ll shoot first again if you don’t control that tongue of yours. You’re supposed to be business man, after all; you wouldn’t want to scare off a customer.”

“Hmpf,” he sneered. “And what would I sell you?”

“Depends what you’re offering.”

“And what if I’ve got nothin’ to offer/”

“Then I want a return on the bullets I used to clear the place out.”

He laughed sardonically. “Oh, so it’s just that easy? I give you ammo and you split, leavin’ me to clean up your mess? ‘Cause that sounds like a fair trade.”

“You’re right. If I remove that atrocious comb over from you head, will we be even?”

Cait snickered. “Told ya it was fuckin’ ugly.”

Dogmeat yapped and pawed at the floor.

Tommy’s bad mood worsened.

“I don’t know if I should kiss you or have my little bird here feed you your own entrails,” the ghoul groused.

Cait’s chortling ceased and she frowned. “I told ya to quit callin’ me that!”

“This is a gladiator rink, isn’t it?” the stranger interjected, not interested in their quarrelling.

Tommy gave her an odd look. “You’re not from around here, are ya?” She didn’t respond so he continued, “This is- was- the Combat Zone. Finest arena in the Commonwealth.” He looked to the blazed redhead with pride. “Cait here’s the headliner. Hundred plus matches undefeated.”

“Can’t imagine the losers ever live to fight again,” the stranger noted.

“Now you’re startin’ to catch on. We used to serve a more legit clientele, but about two years ago a gang of raiders rolled in and we became a more… exclusive establishment. Up until you took our entire client base out of the gene pool and put us out of business, that is,” he stated sourly.

“They’ll haunt me in my sleep,” she sarcastically replied.

The stranger shuffled on her feet, her socks uncomfortably soaked with sweat. “I saved your lives. Most people are grateful.” Dogmeat mumbled in agreement.

“For killing our meal ticket? They may not have been the friendliest bunch-,” the wanderer snorted, “- but keeping those idiots entertained at least kept the lights on.”

The stranger’s eyebrow quirked, though they couldn’t see it. “You pay for electricity?”

The ghoul’s face curled, fed up with the woman’s obvious attempts to rile him. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something else out, Mr. Businessman,” she replied condescendingly.

Cait snorted. “Ta Hell with that! I just need a quick breather and I’ll be ready to go.”

“To shove more of that junk into your arm? No, I think this was a blessing in disguise.”

“You caught the end of that bought. Whaddya think of Cait’s work?” he asked, thoughtfully regarding her.

She knew exactly where this was going. Many a parent, so many the magnitude still startled her to this day, desperate to rid themselves of greedy mouths to feed had opened with such a line. The question always boiled her blood; the sick fucks had no idea how good they had it. But she wanted to keep the upper hand and thus played ignorant and unimpressed. “Decent.”

“Decent?” he chuckled. “And you’re within closing distance? My, you’re brave.”

Dogmeat growled menacingly. Long before the intoxicated redhead would get anywhere near his master, he’d tear her to shreds. The stranger figured the man was either too proud of his disciple or was trying to play the same game she was.

“She’s talented, sure, but she’s impatient. That’ll get her killed one day,” the woman critically evaluated.

“I am not!” Cait cried out, angrily standing taller.

Dogmeat looked like he was going to pounce, so she rubbed his ears again and commanded gently, “Down, boy. Down.” He calmed, but only slightly.

Tommy chuckled, and the stranger realized this probably wasn’t the first time the fiery Irishwoman had heard this advice. He turned serious. “Well, here’s my predicament. I got no audience. No audience means no caps. And no caps-,” he looked to Cait, “- means you’re not an asset, sweetheart. You’re a liability. To myself, and to you.” He turned back around. “So here’s what I’m thinkin’. What say I let you, er… sorry but I didn’t quite catch your name?”

“I never gave you one.”

Tommy waited, obviously expecting her to offer her name. When she didn’t, he asked, “You’re name, sweetheart?”

“Why?” the stranger queried.

“Because I wanna know the name of the person I’m potentially negotiating with? Because it’s good business practice?” he sounded confused and annoyed at her stubbornness.

The stranger wouldn’t relinquish her name this easily; it was the last thing she had left. Everything else was dead or rotting, and she’d be damned if she would just give away her only possession. “I don’t even know what I’m being offered,” she lied.

Tommy sighed, clearly frustrated. “Fine. What say I let you take over Cait’s contract? She goes with you, watches your back. Look, you’d be doin’ me a huge favor while I try and get the place back in order. Whaddya say?”

“Me?! And her?!” Cait stuttered.

“Why?” the stranger asked, totally unfazed.

“Yeah, Tommy, just why the Hell ya tryin’ ta get rid of me?” Cait demanded, sounding betrayed.

Tommy sighed yet again. “Look kid: that junk’s makin’ you careless. And I don’t wanna be the one doin’ color commentary when you finally hit the floor. Alright? Just do me this favor. Both of you. Please.”

“Not interested,” was the immediate response. Dogmeat concurred with a whine.

That threw him for a loop. “Now hold on here-!”

“No. I have a hard enough feeding us as it is. Caps are tight right now. Adding another mouth to feed, a very catty mouth mind you, on top expenses for lodging, weapons, ammo, etcetera, etcetera. Besides,” she look down at her pooch and her pooch looked back up at her, “Dogmeat is all the company I need.”

The beast enthusiastically barked at that, pleased to make his master’s acquaintance.

“You prefer that mutt over me?” Cait asked, appalled and offended.

The stranger immediately snapped, fed up with everyone calling Dogmeat, a purebred German Shephard, a mutt. “That mutt has almost gutted you three times since he’s met you. Considering he’s almost larger than you, I’d watch my tongue if I were you”

If dogs could nod, then her dog nodded.

“On top of all of that,” the stranger continued, “I can’t imagine she agrees with the law very much. I’m not particularly interested in running from the fuzz.” She recapped everything in her head, and confirmed, “Unless you have something else, I think we’re done here.”

“Now wait a minute! Hey!” the ghoul exclaimed when the stranger and her pooch pivoted simultaneously and stalked away.

Cait scoffed.

They were almost to the door when the ghoul desperately inquired, “Whaddya want me to do, pay ya?!”

The redhead beside him was flabbergasted. “What the Hell, Tommy?!”

However, his final cry had been heard; the stranger stopped and pivoted. “That would certainly help your case. But I’m not cheap.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he conceded, relieved that the ploy had worked. Flustered but trying not to show it, he asked, “Alright then, whaddya thinkin’?”

The stranger already mulled it over, and without skipping a beat replied, “1,500 caps. 300 now and I’ll come by later to pick up the rest.”

Tommy’s eyes bulged from his sockets. “Jesus! Fifteen hundred caps? Are you insane?”

“You know my price. I’m not backing down,” she responded, uncompromising in her decision. As if to emphasize, Dogmeat plopped onto his rear.

“I understand, but the fact of the matter is that that’s-.” He was interrupted.

“My final offer,” she cut him off. “Come on, I have places to be, things to do. Yes or no?”

After a suspenseful silence, he exhaled. “…Fine. But no higher! I’ll be right back…” he grumbled.

“You’re really that desperate ta get rid of me?” Cait seemed extremely hurt. “You’ll just sell me off to this stranger-?”

“Allison.”

“What?” Cait queried, puzzled and wary.

“My name is Allison. This is Dogmeat,” the stranger explained. The dog in question wagged his tail and cocked his head, eyeing the pit fighter with suspicion. He’d have to keep an eye on this one.

“Well alright, _Allison_ , I’ll go get you your stinkin’ caps,” Tommy replied with mild contempt, then passed by the woman on his way to snag the cash from his piggy bank.

All parties watched him leave, then Allison rotated her head and stood straighter, taller, stronger. In a commanding tone, “I’ve got a few ground rules if you’re gonna follow me.”

“Oh no you don’t. I’m not-!” the smaller tried to refuse.

“Hush. This is my posse, and you’ll obey my rules or I’ll dump your ass in the nearest gutter.” It was stated as an unchangeable fact of life.

“Rule 1: You do everything I tell you too when I tell you to.” Cait rolled her eyes, but she continued. “Rule 2: You will not touch my dog unless I grant you special permission.”

The redhead let out a rebellious puff of air.

“Rule 3: We’re a team now. We cooperate, we share, we watch each other’s backs.”

“I’m not sharin’ a damn thing with ya!” Cait exclaimed.

“That’s ok. I can just take what I want,” the woman reasoned in an exasperated retort. The redhead was starting to pinch her nerves; perhaps she should have asked higher?

Cait let loose a loud breath of air. “In yer dreams.”

The solid oak stock smacked her cheek with such force, the redhead plowed right into the tangle of pipes behind her. “Fock!” There were no stars, but the blow she received blurred her vision and had her spluttering to breath. She sank to her tush, hands cupping her head as she tried to recall her birthdate.

Nope, still didn’t know.

That was good; her parents had never informed her of the date her mother had birthed her. Occasionally, after a bad hit, the date July 5th always popped into her head for whatever reason. They hadn’t told her a lot of other things too, but that was the only one that mattered right now. She recovered just in time to notice a furry, toothy maw invading her personal space. Then fingers pried the wooden weapon from her sloth’s grip and she weakly tried to reclaim it without success.

“Get the picture?” the woman taunted. Dogmeat growled and inched closer.

Cait tried to hoist herself up, but she found herself gazing down two smooth barrels, and she halted. She attempted a rebellious sneer, despite the shotgun pointed at her eyes, but the action moved her bruised cheek and she groaned, “Ow…”

“You’re not alpha anymore, Cait. You can’t punch your way out of situations if I’m involved.” The bat clattered to the stage at her feet. “Grab your stuff. We leave now.”

And just like that, she was waltzing away.

 

 **ooooo**  

 

A secret hatch in the stage clunked open, and the furious Irishwoman whose head still swam descended the ladder that lead to her horribly depressing excuse of a room. There were no personal touches, just a cramped area with a grungy mattress and a chest of supplies. She opened the trunk, venom dripping from her tongue as she murmured, “Fockin’ motherfocker thinks she can fockin…”

A backpack, small and square, was yanked from the trunk, and Cait began throwing whatever she couldn’t live without into the meager sack. Food- mostly sweets-, her collection of caps, several pairs of matching outfits, toothpaste and a toothbrush (she preferred to keep her teeth that weren’t cracked or missing), a switchblade, shells and the corresponding sawed-off shotgun, a few stimpacks, and the bane of her existence. She cringed as her fingertips grazed the oversized black syringe, duct tape strapping two other cylinders of vile chemicals to the center tube.

The urge was too strong. A twist of the plug and the needle extended. She grasped it so tightly, she feared it would break and the venom would spatter to the floor. It had happened before.

But it didn’t happen now. The point neared her flesh, and her conscience tied itself into knots. She knew she shouldn’t do it, all addicts knew that. That wasn’t what hooked them, what forced them to turn themselves into human pincushions. At first, it was that glimmer of hope that this time, she’d reach that high, that after so many sessions, after so many fruitless attempts this time would be different. The pain would all wash away in a blubbering, mind-numbing flash of ecstasy, and her problems would vanish and her thoughts would disappear and everything would be ok. She just needed more, that was it!

Of course things took a turn for the worst. They always did with Cait; it was something she accepted long ago. She didn’t stop taking Psycho to numb the pain of the memories. Nothing had changed in that respect. The issue was that now it hurt all the time, even when she was tripping. So she took more, and when that didn’t work she took even more. The doses doubled, the frequency tripled, and pretty soon she was a chem dealer’s ultimate fantasy. Two before a fight to run her adrenaline, then two after because the two before were wearing off and that inescapable dread and panic and actual, material agony were starting to rear their ugly, disgusting heads. Even after battles where she’d sustained no damage she found herself doubled over, wretching blood in startling amounts.

Addictol did nothing. She was too deeply dependent on the substance. It was part of her now, metaphysically and physically.

 _Hiss!_ went the tube, and the odd, swelling sensation that pressurized contents being injected into the bloodstream gave her filled her arm. A long sigh. As usual, it wasn’t enough and she scrabbled at another and clumsily stabbed her shoulder.

Rage consumed her. Fingernails split flesh, and red liquid dripped through her clenched fingers.

“ _FOCKIN’ KILL!_ ” she shouted, denting the coffer with a fist. She yanked at strands of hair, the delicious pain only fueling her fury. She sat there thrashing about like child throwing a tantrum, screaming her head off, until the initial effect wore off enough that she could fake sanity.

Staring at the roof, she raised her hands to study her knuckles, crimson blood trailing elegantly down the back of palm from the lacerated skin. Her shallow breathing steadied, and rung by rung she ascended from the pit, slamming the trap door shut behind her.

The woman was waiting at the stairs, disassembled pistol laying in pieces beside her. With a rag and polish, she cleaned all the springs, pivots, and pins, and Cait observed her silently. She knew her away around a weapon, inside and out it seemed.

Suddenly, a scream for help, then a loud boom echoed from the foyer, but Allison didn’t flinch.

“The fock was that?” Cait asked, curious and alert.

“That’s what happens when you break _my_ rules,” was the cryptic, mumbled reply.

The pieces were a handgun again in an instant, and they climbed and ducked through the rubble to enter the front hall. Cait could witness exactly happened when someone “broke her rules.”

Both of the troublemakers were dead. They’d committed some simple offense, she remembered, like forgetting the entrance fee or something or other. What was once a woman lay headless, her noggin sprayed against the glass divider. Beside her, the man’s entire left side was ravaged and gory, sticks of shrapnel poking from many wounds. There weren’t buckets of blood, but there were many fine, bloody pieces spread evenly on the walls, on the glass, and on the woman’s partner. It didn’t look dissimilar to a victim of an explosive slaver’s collar, and Cait could only wonder what events lead to her brains being plastered all over the wall.

As the doors to the theater were bypassed and they clopped out into the rain, the redhead quipped, “What happened to ‘em? Looks like one of them swallowed a grenade, or somethin’.”

“It would seem so,” but that was all Allison said.


	2. The City of Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, there! I have another chapter prepared for you all, and I'd like to thank whoever gave me my first ever kudos! I've always imagined Diamond City as a run down, depressing establishment, so that's what I tried to convey. Leave me a comment to tell me how I'm doing, and thank you so much for reading this far!

Dreary.

The single word most completely describes the appearance of the famed Diamond City.

Plopped unceremoniously within the confines of the old Boston baseball field, the shantytown stole refuge between the landmark’s faded, green walls. Perhaps it was the Institute- or maybe it was the Russians, if they still existed, with their fabled control of Mother Nature- that summoned an immortal bank of thick, cottony clouds that blocked all light for eternity, casting drab shadows upon the unfortunate “city”. Through the old, crumbling entrance, past a ticket booth fortified with pre-war arms, and down the rickety, rusted stairs that creaked with every footstep sulked the brunt of the settlement. Presented immediately after boots hit the muddy ground sat the roundabout, the central hub where the less… illegitimate goods were traded for Nuka Cola bottle caps. Dominating, eerie light fixtures skulked high above the town, throwing white light- even the light was cheerless and gloomy- when night arrived.

Towering above the sea of huts and sheds loomed the colossal, cylindrical housing for the staple of The Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. Hobbling behind a cold, steel bar, a rogue Protectron dubbed Takahashi prepared a single dish: EZ cook ramen spiced with some secret seasoning. A tube of sparking, flickering neon yellow that twirled and twisted and danced into cursive lettering hovered beneath torn, tarp awnings, spelling out the name of the completely-automated establishment: Power Noodles. All around, hawkers and shop owners yapped and chirped obnoxiously, drawing in the odd customer with their unrelenting tenacity. Somber steam emanated from many different sources: pipes and tubes jutting out from structures crudely constructed from dull, smudged steel, wood drenched with fallout, and any other viable building material. Columns of grey smoke rose into the colorless sky from the barrels cradling crackling flames that brooded in every dark corner. The guard, clad in catcher’s masks and umpire’s vests, leaned with the casual threatening posture, and though their existence was controversial by many they gave not a damn what anyone thought.

Down seedy back alleys, where the air was damp, dank, and choking, the chem market was alive and well, thanks to the abominable entry tax placed upon all drugs and pharmaceuticals. Other illicit substances and items were traded by illicit characters down the windy maze of corridors of metal and depression that spiderwebbed from the central circle. It was here where the poor wandered, necks locked in a crooked angle because everyone only ever looked at the floor. These people wore rags and leather scraps carved from horribly mutated cattle, and when the sun died, they scurried to hide their beings away in their mockeries of homes where even the occasional breeze passed through numerous cracks and crevices. They fought daily to survive, picking mutfruit from the fields at the rear near the prized Wall that, even after all these years, still heroically shielded the solemn town.

Up above in the stands, the posh elite, stomachs always full and clad in dirtied pinstripe tuxes, glared down at their subjects, not realizing that those very subjects were what kept the beasts at bay and allowed them to sneer back at life that dared to intrude upon their personal happiness.

Allison hated the city. It was too melancholy, too full of people.

She wasn’t necessarily antisocial. It just seemed that all the good ones died when the bombs dropped. Everyone in the Commonwealth shared this trait, this absence of decency, and here in this mass congregation of survivors, the assholery smelled as pungent as the grime and filth that clung to every individual.

Good God, she’d become a cynic. Could anyone blame her?

‘ _No,_ ’ she decided. ‘ _They have no idea what I’m going through._ ’

But at least half of the persons here knew what she was going through, and they knew it well. She was very aware of this fact, but pushed it to the far reaches of her mind and convinced herself that she had a right to mope. After all, drowning in self-pity was much easier than fixing the problem, and so she dove deep beneath the surface and relished the burning in her lungs as her humanity slowly slipped away.

However, if she placed any bets, she speculated that the dumbly stubborn vendor that she “bartered” with currently would sooner suck away her soul before the edge of a needle ever could.

“It’s a 10 millimeter bullet,” the woman insisted through her bandana, holding the piece of ammunition in front of the unflinching eyes of the cashier.

An older gentleman in a coat like hers, the balding man with greying hair stared at the object with little interest. “I can see that,” he drawled through his heavy southern lilt, chew snug in his lip, hunched over with one elbow resting against the counter.

“Six caps seems just a little much, doesn’t it?” she inquired calmly, though inside she really, _really_ wanted to know how the wall behind him looked with a little splash of red.

He spit a viscous globule of tobacco onto the floor next to the stand. How did this man ever sell _anything_?

“I reckon it is, missus. But ya see, there’s been a shortage recently, and I’ve gotta hike prices up to associate.” She assumed he meant “accommodate” but he was too dense to know the difference between the two.

“Yeah, I know the basics of supply and demand. But you mean to tell me that there’s a shortage of the most common bullet in the wasteland? _That’s_ your excuse?” She allowed just the right amount of disbelief into her tone.

He smirked. “If it’s tha most common bullet in tha wasteland, why ya here arguin’ with me?”

‘ _Good point._ ’

Allison hung her head, rolling her neck until it cracked and popped. “Because I’d rather not get my head blown off by some scavver while I’m rifling through filing cabinets. This is much safer. Now,” she pointed towards another salesman, “Gary over there sells the _same product_ at _two caps_ per bullet. And he doesn’t seem to suffer from this shortage.”

He pushed his ugly mug further over the counter. “Then why don’ you go git some from Gary?” he asked as if the solution was obvious.

“Oh you know why.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

She leaned in so the skeevy bloke couldn’t hear them gossip about him. “I wouldn’t trust that guy to open a door for me, much less sell me the ammo I need to survive.” Her head tilted ever so slightly to glance at the shifty eyes, the faintly murderous grin, and the hands that never stopped squeezing and contracting. “Fuckers’d probably explode in the magazine.”

A wheezy chuckle where black spittle spilled onto the linoleum table. “Yer probly right bout that boy.” He mulled something over, then, “Tell ya what: I’ll give ya a special deal, just for you.”

He said nothing more, and the woman expectantly demanded, “Yeah? What is it?”

“Five caps per bullet.”

“Fuck you,” she stated, then tossed the piece into his face before she stormed away, too fed up to worry about dignity. Dogmeat, whose wet, shiny nose camouflaged itself in mud from his vigorous investigation of the ground, caught sight of the spectacle and trotted to place a few sloppy, reassuring kisses on his master’s balled fingers that loosened at the affection.

The redhead with arms crossed that leaned against a duct several feet away chortled loudly. “So I guess that didn’t work out, eh?”

Allison spoke not a word, sauntering away with an irked demeanor. She eventually circled around to drop her pack by a stool and take a seat at the noodle bot’s place to brew over the thought of revenge. The Irishwoman was beside her seconds later.

“Oi, tin can!” Cait called, only continuing when the chef arrived to cater. “Two beers, cold!”

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” Takahashi droned.

“What?” Cait asked sharply. “A drink, you idiot. I want a drink!”

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

“Bloody machines…” she grumbled.

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

Cait couldn’t see the amused tug of the lip, but Allison smiled nonetheless. Her hand rose, and the bot pivoted. “Two- no, three servings, please.” This guy was the only thing here that deserved a “please”.

Cait appeared bewildered when the protectron obeyed, slowly swiveling to stir at the vat of boiling something on the stovetop behind him. “The Hell? Ya understand it?”

“’It’ is a ‘him’ for the record.” She did not answer whether or not the hunk of junk’s broken Japanese was interpretable. That was a mystery she’d yet to solve.

They waited in silence for their dishes, and Allison surveyed the town square. To the side, a man, taller and more muscular than the pesky trader, lurked motionless beneath a washed out canopy to her left. Wispy, wiry smoke trailed from the embers of a lit cigarette clamped between chapped lips, and obscuring his eyes hung a newsboy’s cap. Off-colored fabric patched holes in the elbows of a drab, blue winter jacket, and a pair of denim trousers tucked themselves into black combat boots. In gloved hands, a paper was clutched, ink splotched all over the white sheet.

To the right, two young children scampered about. One a boy in overalls, and the other a girl lost in a coat too large for her small arms, they both sported grins upon their faces and giggly happiness in their playful laughter- the only trace of something not hopeless or despondent in the entire area. The canine’s triangular ears fluffed as his snout tracked the younglings, his tail tickling the earth he sat upon with its sashaying back and forth.

Behind her, an old man loitered on his haunches atop a collection of crates, likely his only possessions. A woolen blanket sheathed most of his body, the only article visible being his head whose ears were comfortably covered by an ushanka. His deceptively agile fingers strummed away at a makeshift guitar, and the melody produced was so harmonious, yet downhearted and woeful the tune completely transfixed her.

Lyrics surfaced in her mind. Nate had always like her singing, and this one held a special place in his heart. The words swam in her mind so incessantly, so loudly she couldn’t help but softly coo the first verse.

_~“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are grey_

_You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you_

_Please don’t take my sunshine away”~_

Allison sighed: Nate loved that song. He never registered that the theme was actually dark, just loved the way she sang it.

“Damn, girl. You’ve got a voice on ya!” Cait’s exclamation turned her head to witness wide, emerald eyes stare with impressed awe. Her brow was quirked, and her whole body leaned in to better hear the nearly-inaudible hymn. A quick once-over of the passersby determined that only Cait had detected her crooning.

Allison faced forward. “Hmm,” she hummed in acknowledgement.

Takahashi’s mechanical shambling reached her, and she looked up to see the protectron clutching three bowls in spindly chrome grabbers. He halted before the trio, refraining from duty until he was adequately compensated. The little, spinning red light behind tinted Plexiglas twirled just a little faster and the metal relay dish rotated once as caps hit the counter. His eats were expensive, but boy were they a pleasure. The bowls were deposited, the money scooped behind the counter, and the robot waltzed away to attend to a hooded stranger across the way.

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” she overheard.

Grasping the rim between index and thumb, she lowered one of the tasty morsels to the ground where an eager Dogmeat lapped away contentedly.

Slurping informed her that Cait was already enjoying the meal. Allison, in contrast, stared at the thin noodles floating next to carrot chunks, corn, and onions in a briny broth. She hadn’t even removed the mask, and as her eyes hovered over hot vapor, her glasses fogging her vision.

“Ya just gonna stare at it?” Cait snorted, and Allison was surprised that her follower had bothered to pause her vacuum-like consumption of the food to throw a witty remark. Then again, Allison had discovered her arrogant companion _adored_ witty remarks in the few days they’d spent together.

“Maybe I will.” Flat. Matter-of-factly.

Another snort. “Fine, then. Waste yer own caps and starve, see if I care.”

The masked woman stirred the liquid languidly. She felt so tired, yet they’d traveled little distance. She wagered the reason for her exhaustion lay in the fact that she hadn’t taken a hit of anything for too long. The tremors would set in soon, and then her secret would be revealed. Through some unknown miracle, she’d managed to conceal her dependency from an addict, and that was no small feat as far as she was concerned.

Allison reflected on that notion, of starving to death. Not the most pleasant way to go, but it was a way to go. What would happen if she died? Right now?

The pain would disappear. She would no longer feel the burn of withdrawal as she struggled unsuccessfully to quit cold turkey. She would never awake with the false hope that this was all one, cruel dream and cry into the pillow that was so cold without Nate. She would never wonder in uncertainty when her next meal would come, or where it would come from. All she would know is an abyss, a black, wonderful abyss where Nate surely floated.

‘ _Well hot damn, that doesn’t sound so bad, now that I think about it!_ ’

Allison didn’t believe there lived a benevolent god among the clouds. So much shit happened to so many good, undeserving people there was no feasible way, in her opinion, that a being like that could observe and not intervene. And she had yet to see _anything_ intervene, never mind a god.

The slosh of soup as her companions wolfed down theirs reminded her that her life affected others. Dogmeat would wander alone, and if he didn’t become a delicious snack for wild animals, he would undoubtedly die when the gangs of scavengers would try to leash him and coerce the scruffy beast to help them track down undefended encampments or the like. Dogmeat was good boy. He would never allow such a thing.

The feisty redhead would go about her business as if nothing happened. Cait would steal her caps, her weapons, her supplies, and she may even gasp in surprise when it was revealed that the survivor was a drug mule. Shock wouldn’t last long; she would scoop the needles, the bottles, and the inhalers and, if she rationed wisely, she would be merry for at least a week. Cait never did anything wisely though, so she would doubtless down them all the day the wanderer died. She would overdose then, and if her already strained heart still pumped weakly, her comatose body would be forfeit to any passing stranger or raider. There was a chance they would be friendly and kind and would carry her to their abode where she would be spoon fed and nursed to consciousness. However, the ratio of nice guys to asshats lingered dismally low, and the cute redhead’s body would be used to fulfill carnal desires, as there weren’t any respectable brothels in the general vicinity. Whether they’d kill her there or slap a collar on her and bring her home was up for debate.

And then there was Shaun. There would be no one to search for him. No one would even know of his existence. His family line would end when he did, and though she’d found not a trace of his whereabouts, he could still be wailing in the arms of some raider who would raise him to murder his own. That couldn’t happen. Allison wouldn’t let that happen.

Concluding that Dogmeat would end up as dog meat, Cait would be raped and trafficked about the coast, and her baby boy would certainly be lost forever, and subsequently that none of the above would appreciate their fates, the wanderer determined that she would _not_ find a lonely corner and bite the bullet.

So Allison removed the handkerchief- but not the glasses- and took up the spoon to chow down. Everyone raved about Power Noodles, but ultimately only the survivor could know that Takahashi’s special cuisine was just packaged ramen salted with something she couldn’t place. But it was palatable and it was food, a combination that rarely appeared in the apocalypse.

Dogmeat yawned down low, resting his head on his soaked paws. A satisfied sigh from the left and a shuffle as Cait retrieved a bottle of Gwinnett Brew- “Tastes like piss, as all good beers do”- from her pack, placing the tip of the cap at the aluminum edge of the countertop, and smacking the bottle with the flat of her palm. A brief _hiss!_ and then the rim was to the redhead’s lips.

“So what’s the mission?” Cait asked without warning, without context.

“Huh?” the wanderer questioned, looking to the Irishwoman for an explanation. “What do you mean?”

She knocked down a hardy swig of her beverage, then turned and said, “Well, ya didn’t hire me fer no reason. And everyone’s got a goal they wanna reach before a mirelurk snaps ‘em in half. Start a family. Kill the bastard who shot ya. That sorta thing.”

Allison contemplated this. Did finding Shaun count? It should, but why waste breath over something that would never happen?

“I don’t have one,” she concluded.

“Bullshit.” Another swig. She looked at the wanderer, searching for eyes she could stare into through the shaded lenses. “Didn’t ya hear me? Everyone’s got a plan.”

Allison drew and fired a blank. No matter what crossed through her brain, none of it sounded real enough for a suspicious, unyielding woman.

“I guess I’m not everyone.”

“Ha!” the redhead scoffed disbelievingly, draining so much of the liquor that Dogmeat whined uneasily. The bottle knocked onto the counter as she turned with squinty eyes to query, “Now ya listen hear. I don’t know a single man er woman foolish enough ta barge into a place like the Combat Zone without at least a life er two hangin’ in the balance.” She sarcastically added, “Unless yer lookin’ ta get killed.”

No response. Allison just sucked down more of her soup.

Meanwhile, Cait leaned over to analyze what she could and make sense of the silence. The truth apparently dawned on her because she slowly sunk into the cushy stool with a groan. “Yer a fockin’ suicide, aren’t ya?”

Nothing. Dogmeat’s whimper accompanied by a nuzzle of her calf helped no one.

A sigh. Cait bitterly muttered, “Goddammit, Tommy. Fockin’ sell me off ta some idiot who wants ta kill us both. Excellent taste in customer, as usual ya fockin’ bastard.” With that, it was bottles up for the redhead and she swallowed the last dregs of beer from its jade glass container. Cait leaned down immediately, gathering up another bottle by the neck, popping the seal, then guzzling the majority of that one.

Allison cringed. “Jesus, don’t get pissed before we head out.”

“I’m a proud Irishwoman. I can’t even feel a buzz.” She sneered rudely, “Besides, why the fock would you care? Isn’t that whatcha want?”

Dogmeat growled menacingly, gradually rising to his paws but a hand signal from his master lowered him again. His snout remained upward, ears perked, beady eyes glaring with the promise of messy homicide.

Allison didn’t speak a word, just brought the ceramic bowl to her mouth and finished the broth. She set the utensil upon the table and relished the silence, even though it was tense and awkward. Half of the things the redhead spewed were toxic insults and attacks on her personality. The other half was mostly oddly thick blood violently coughed out when Cait thought her companion’s eyes explored another direction.

The natural, joyless misery of Diamond City battled the glimmering electric fluorescence of the salvaged signs of the old world. Citizens ambled about here and there, and Cait’s words of goals and aspirations echoed in her skull as raindrops began to patter. Undeterred by the precipitation, the old man still strummed admirably. A behemoth with red, peeling paint that used to vend ice-cold Nuka Colas slept under litter and wooden coffers on the far side, and beside that a wrought-iron gate safeguarded a flight of concrete stairs that lead to the second floor balcony where grizzled wastelanders threw kings, queens, and jacks onto a foldable table.

A thought occurred.

“Alright, Little-Miss-Sympathy. What’s yours?” she questioned, twisting on her stool.

Cait recoiled. “I’m not sure I wanna tell ya’ that, now that I think about it.”

Allison shrugged apathetically, “According to you, I’m just gonna blow my brains out the first chance I get, so as far as I see it, it makes no difference whether or not you tell me.” Allison leaned in, elbows on knees, head cocked off-balance. “Consider it a dying woman’s wish.”

The redhead turned away to gaze at the curtain of raindrops plinking against the drenched earthen ground partially concealed by rubber mats and subdued steel sheets.

Then, after twisting to scrutinize the prying woman, she answered enigmatically, “I’m tryin’ ta… cut meself loose from a certain acquaintance. We’ve a toxic relationship, and it’s really got me grindin’ me teeth.” A very large swig.

Ah, so she was aware she had a problem. That was more than most had traveled down the bumpy path to freedom.

“I wasn’t aware you had any friends,” Allison prodded.

“Oh fock you too,” she huffed, green irises hostile and venomous.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” and Cait’s defenses lowered ever so slightly.

‘ _Still holds true though_ ,’ she ruminated with an inward chuckle.

More silence between the trio. Allison glanced to the dog-like silhouette of moisture below the barstool, eyes darting until she spied the pooch entertaining a shopkeeper. The saleswoman knelt to one knee and Dogmeat greedily crunched on some sweet goodie out of her outstretched palm. Rows of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes sat on old shelves that looked to fall apart any second, and further into the glum alcove more treats resided, waiting for someone with a sweet tooth to devour them in their crinkly, plastic packages.

“Must be a pretty nasty friend if that’s your life’s goal,” Allison commented.

Cait downed more liquor. “Yup.”

Again more silence. A melee erupted between two burly figures on the opposite side the duo were sitting on. A large, black male pummeled a smaller Asian-American, the latter’s trilby gracefully gliding to the ground as the owner’s head mercilessly whipped side to side. No one interfered. A few stray glances were thrown their way, as the current champion screamed racial slurs and something about “you damn commies”, but this behavior was normal. Then, the tide of battle turned after the man with the bruised eyes and broken nose produced a knife. It was small, but at the click of a lever, the blade flipped into view and suddenly the big man was howling in agony as red blotches appeared across his torso. The little man only ceased his brutal combo when the bigger stopped moving and then some. The blade retracted into the handle, and the panting man bent to place the cap upon his head once more, eyes still furious with adrenaline. He marched away triumphantly, leaving the town guard to dispose of the corpse.

Such was the way of the world these days; only the fiercest survived.

“So how’s that going for you?” Allison questioned.

“What?” Cait responded with one of her own, lost in critiquing the fighters’ form, most likely.

“Breaking away from this friend of yours. How’s it going?” but Allison already knew the answer.

The longest gulp yet. Her hand shivered. “Not very well,” she rasped.

‘ _Amen to that._ ’

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait knew she’d way overcompensated.

The mattress she hunched over, head in petite hands as legs dangled over, looked to be a scene of some savage butchery with its discolored smudges painting the entire surface. Every spring complained as she shifted anxiously, and in some areas the liner had ripped open to reveal the coiled ribcage. The room was small, urine-yellow walls pocked with fissures and clefts through which she could see the hallway of the Dugout Inn. Dimly lit by a single table lamp, a dresser about to collapse beneath its own weight groaned beside a table where names and filthy words spiraled in whittled letters. A rug infested with some sort of lice or the sort lay in the corner- Cait’s language and attitude were unsanitary, but after years in a cell with nothing but her own excrement, hygiene ranked high on the list of priorities.

She was alone with her thoughts, a position that’d always agreed with her, but now as she recalled her conversation she began to regret her actions. That never happened; Cait was headstrong and independent. What mistakes she committed were thrown to the side and forgotten, like that rug, but she knew she fucked up bad this time.

How many times had she considered ending it immediately? How many times had she eagerly shoved a muzzle into her mouth and pulled the trigger, only to found out how difficult it was to move the slim piece of metal when she needed to most? How many times had she pussied out of an endless solution to all of life’s problems, only to rue her own cowardice and inability to finish herself as she slammed more poison into her sore veins? How many times a day did she stare down both barrels of her own shotgun, hoping a burst of metal balls would zoom toward her haggard face in a spectacular, orange explosion and spray her brains over the floor and the ceiling and the walls?

Enough that she could vividly describe the crimp of the red shells and the smooth luster of the interior of her weapon.

And yet, she’d ridiculed someone who’d thought the same thoughts of self-destruction. If anyone ever pulled that stunt with her, she’d show them what the inside of their skull looked like. The feeling of remorse churned her stomach as she massaged eyelids that threatened to shut and stay shut.

She needed another hit.

Cait inspected the tube of venom resting in quivering palms. To this day, she still possessed no clue whatsoever what chemicals dwelled in the black syringe, only that when the pressurized liquid filled her arms with warmth the agitation that itched from deep below the skin vanished and morphed into a torrent of raging euphoria. Anger was simple. Anger was one-sided. Anger was totally manageable. Perhaps this was why she preferred this substance over all others; the purple sludge that was Med-X only vanquished physical torment, and Mentats and Daddy-O overloaded everything and induced a blobby, jumbled clusterfuck of emotions that Cait didn’t know what to do with.

But Psycho only brought her fury. Simple, delicious fury that wiped away any and all doubts about anything and everything and it felt so, so, _so_ good to condense all of life’s oddities and perplexities into one delectable color: blood red.

She couldn’t stab herself fast enough, groping to twist the cap and plunge the razor into the fathomless depths of her left arm. Hot lava invaded her senses and hijacked her being-

-But the bliss dissipated disappointingly mere seconds after liftoff. So another was applied, the empty clattering to stony slabs filled with lines of pasty grout. More fumbling, another _hiss!_ and more ecstasy. This one lasted longer, fingers ripping the cloth of the comforter for a few minutes before that dose died off just as suddenly.

The third and final cylinder of wrath crumpled in her grasp, and joined the other two on the floor. She smothered her screaming into the mattress, fists pounding and twisting and tearing the linen as her spine arched and her toes curled. Three at a time was a new record, and as she spasmed, her brain flooded with signals, her synapses firing so rapidly, she marveled over why she’d never done this before-

And just like that, there was no more fury. There was no more glorious aggravation, no sublime enraging vengeance upon all of mankind.

Just sadness.

Loneliness.

Despair.

-Oh. That’s why.

Her heart felt so cold, her flesh so frozen and numb to the touch. Her knees settled beneath her chin, and her arms encased her shins and pulled tight against her aching bosom. So cold. So cold. Her lip quavered, her chest was seized by some invisible phantom wringing the liquid happiness from her being, and she swore she could see the puddle grow larger as time passed.

No, wait, those were her tears.

And since when was she on the floor? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. Cait wanted to call for help, yearned to feel a warm body caress hers and tell her that everything would be alright. But who could she call for? Who cared enough about her to comfort her in her moment of need? Were there any souls left that sprinted to give aid to those whom required assistance?

Maybe Allison? No. No, that ship sailed shortly after the arrogant redhead told her to go kill herself. Cait knew she was a bitch, a griping, whiney bitch, and that everyone around her hated her for it. Cait knew she was a selfish asshole that hoarded food and bullets even after her dedication to share. Cait knew she was all-around a shitty person, yet still she expected someone to magically appear and cuddle her till her spirits lifted.

That didn’t happen, of course.

Her stomach bubbled and boiled. Nausea steadily swelled in her tummy, her abdomen bloating and toiling until she almost puked right there.

‘ _Urgh. Gonna be sick_.’

On all fours, she staggered as quickly as possible to the waste bin located conveniently at the foot of the bed. She crawled, palms and knees scraping against the rough ground until she arrived none too soon. Hands on either side, she didn’t bother to pin her hair as she wretched into the basket. Spikes of pain dug into the tissue up her esophagus, her throat, and in the bowels of her stomach as chunky blood spewed from her gaping mouth. The taste was indescribably horrid, falling in between rotten eggs and curdled milk with a pang of copper. She convulsed wildly, nails scratching canyons into the plastic bin as a disturbing amount of scarlet vomit splattered to the bottom. One final twitch, one last shudder of her diaphragm and her stomach had nothing left to expel. Cait still kneeled over the bucket, dry heaving and spluttering for a period before she swooned against the footboard.

Her back pressed against the headframe, her head limply swaying to and fro. Syrupy, sticky crimson trailed from her fat bottom lip that hung agape, her eyelids allowing only a slit of emerald to peer out, straight down, onto her lap, her fiery hair draping all around her peripheral vision and creating a tunnel of brilliant tresses.

Cait’s eyes closed completely. A headache throbbed at her temples, and the smell only worsened the pain and her mood. She couldn’t move, only flinch at the stinging air that washed over flushed, oversensitive flesh. Even the light filtering in from behind her bowed head pierced into her brain and scorched it, amplifying the migraine. Ugh, she just wanted to die.

Her eyes opened and- oh, would you look at that. The double-barrel leisurely sprawled over her lap. Squinty eyes noticed a few new additions, a couple of empty beer bottles in varying stances, and wondered when she’d drained those. It didn’t matter now: she had her shotty and that was all she cared for at this moment.

The Irishwoman’s scalp clonked against the frame as her head lolled back. The dual muzzles assumed their place below her chin, and Cait sighed in satisfaction. Back to something familiar for once. The index digit wrapped around the trigger.

She pulled.

But the damn thing didn’t budge.

She pulled again.

The same result.

A tightness in her throat as both hands squeezed so powerfully, if it were anything else it would’ve shattered. Her teeth grit from the exertion, knuckles white, fingers tingling as she tried and tried and tried and tried, but the lever wouldn’t give a centimeter, and that frustrated the redhead so fucking _much why could she just pull the FUCKING TRIGGER_

A screech of agony and the weapon sailed and slammed forcefully into the wall, denting the material as the Cait curled into the fetal position once more. She was so useless, so utterly pathetic. She ragged on others for their faults and insecurities while she pulled shit like this?

God, she was such a shitty fucking person.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait had no idea when she passed out (this was becoming a recurring theme), but as eyelids retracted to allow bleary eyes to glare at the bobbing strips clinging to the perimeter of her room, the hangover wasn’t as terrible as she expected. A jackhammer thumped away at her mind but that was nothing new, and so she hauled herself from the messy sheets to dodder out the doorway.

Through rundown corridors she staggered, passing an old man with graying hair who looked high off his tits and one of the three maids the Inn could afford, her scraggly, greasy amber locks tied up into a bun as fragile arms pushed a mop across the chipped concrete. She disdainfully strolled around a gangbanger in a leather jacket sucking a fat cigar as he ogled her assets. Moments later as she rounded a corner, her disposition shifted and wide hips swung further as she sauntered past one of the only prostitutes that looked half-decent. If the appalled expression indicated anything, it was that the woman was straight, and Cait pitied the escort’s sexuality. Out in the wasteland, women needed love just as badly as men, and if the courtesan didn’t broaden her horizons, her “business” would sink.

A crying shame, too; it’d been too long since Cait was properly laid, and the prostitute possessed a fetching body, even if the face were a double-bagger. Oh well.

The bar/reception area met her with a loud wave of the hustle and bustle of drunks, fools, and everyone in between. Home plate hovered behind the staff manning the drinks, and upon it were nailed the words “DUGOUT INN”. Lamplight shone a twinkling yellow over round, oaken tables armed with cheap foldable chairs, and near the entrance two striped, throw-up-green couches relaxed across a long coffee table. Unraveling, faded mats and dead, knobby trees planted in finned, Red Rocket pots here and there attempted to spice things up, but their washed out colors somehow made the badly lit hut seem even dingier, murkier, and darker. The plaster of the navy blue ceiling shrugged away, ghosting over heads and revealing decaying beams. A radio twittered popular tunes, the annoying announcer interrupting strands of music to toss breaking news reports at exasperated listeners.

Cait spotted her objective lounging in some nondescript corner, booted feet atop the table she slumped behind. The sunglasses and tricorn still cloaked her upper mug, but the veil over her lips strangled her throat. That damn mutt that always followed the pair was unwinding next to its master, eyes shut and ears drooping. A pistol, the wanderer’s 10 millimeter hand cannon, lay on the tabletop beside…

The redhead counted, then counted again. Yeah, that was one, two, three, seven… eighteen empty bottles, all sporting different labels, all capless and siphoned of their contents. That couldn’t be healthy, even by Cait’s standards.

‘ _Is she even alive?_ ’

Yes, she was alive. Allison’s head swiveled as the redhead took a seat next to the woman, jaw never so much as twitching.

“These yers?” she queried, running a finger through the air in the direction of the bottles.

“I believe so,” though the voice was even and unwavering, either not intoxicated or very skilled at hiding her drunkenness.

Cait plucked one from the collection. “’Gwinnett Lager’” she read aloud, turning the thing around in her grasp.

“Shit.” A single digit extended from a hand and with an exaggerated flip of the wrist at every title, she pointed at each individual bottle and informed the Irishwoman, “Shit, shit, shit, decent, shit, shit, super shit, shit, decent, shit, shit, good enough that I’ve a few more stashed away, shit, shit, shit, shit, and shit.” The hand flopped to smack against the table, and the mongrel’s beastly head raised at the commotion, then lowered. “All in all, I want my money back.”

“And ya drank all this in one night?” Cait asked disbelievingly.

“Sort of.”

“And yer not even at least a little tipsy?” Cait queried suspiciously.

Allison’s head nocked to one side as she answered, “I don’t think I am,” followed shortly by, “How much time do you think has passed?”

She thought for a moment. “Less than a day.”

“It’s been two and a half,” Allison bluntly stated.

Wow. Never again would she do three shots, she promised, though she knew her promises meant nothing.

An almost undetectable smile crossed over Allison’s lips as she interpreted the surprise. “Yeah, me too. Didn’t know either until the loud baldy-,” Vadim Bobrov, “- shouted at me a few hours ago.”

A nod. Then a frown as the facts didn’t line up in Cait’s mind. “I thought ya said ya downed these all in one sittin’?”

An uncomfortable shift in her squeaky seat that ended with Allison burrowing deeper into her chair. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then why’re the bottles still sittin’ here?” Cait demanded, sure the house of cards would fall in on itself. Instead, she received a much more reasonable, if depressing, answer.

“Too drunk to walk back to my room. No one kicked me out, so I just crashed here. Woke up, and the bottles still stood before my very eyes.”

“I guess I can believe that,” the redhead admitted, leaning in and rolling her stiff neck. The floor was not the softest of places to spend two days past out. “What I can’t believe is how ya didn’t die.”

“I think I did,” the woman nonchalantly replied, slouching farther back. “Twice.”

Was Cait dead? Was three vials over her body’s limit? She doubted it, seeing as she’d injected more of a variety many times beforehand, but Psycho was not something to fuck with. She averted her stunned gaze from the floor to catch sight of Allison reading the display on her Pipboy.

“Let’s see here,” she mumbled. “Yup. Flatlined twice. Once at,” she leaned in, the screen throwing glowing green rectangles into the lenses of her shades, “12:03 AM a couple days ago- I remember that coma- and another-.” The survivor scrolled, finding the information and reciting, “- one day after that, at 1:14 AM.”

Cait said nothing for a while. Dogmeat growled as he rolled to smother his other flank, but he possessed nothing to add to the conversation.

Cait spoke carefully, softly “Must’ve been bad.”

“Hmm?” Allison queried.

Cait awkwardly looked at her, uncomfortably elaborating, “Most people don’t drink like that unless they’ve got somethin’ ta forget.”

The cackling of her audience spooked her and she jumped as the woman beside her burst without warning. Allison’s shoulders jounced up and down, her feet sliding from the table and sweeping a few of the bottles with it. Every head turned to stare at the manic woman slapping the table with an open palm, the laughing subsiding into delirious giggling before it petered out.

Allison sniffled. “No, _*sniff*_ it’s really not.” She collected herself, curious bystanders still eyeing them. “I mean, yeah, it’s bad,” she gestured, defeated, with both mitts at the row of glass, “but it’s not _this_ bad.”

Both sat silently to the melody of “Anything Goes” warbled by Cole Porter, and to the rhythmic wheezing of Dogmeat.

“I’m sorry,” Cait blurted.

“What for?” Allison asked.

Cait sighed; apologizing had never been a strength of hers. “For what I said earlier. At Taka-trashcan’s place.”

“For calling me a ‘fockin’ suicide’?” she repeated, imitating the Irishwoman’s accent flawlessly. She leveled a bottle to her lips and grunted when nothing spilled out.

It was Cait who cringed this time. “Yes.”

A slow nod. “That’s usually not something the average person makes fun of, seeing as half the people in this bar’ve probably contemplated it. Maybe they’ve even tried it.”

The redhead bristled. “Yeah, yeah, I know it was wrong. That’s why I’m apologizin’, dammit. Ya don’t need to guilt trip me!”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then just what the Hell did ya mean?” Cait demanded.

The wanderer bobbed her head once, then stared at something behind her. “Considering you’re an intolerable jackass most of the time, it’s nice to see you’re not a complete bitch.”

“…”

“That was supposed to be a compliment.”

Cait huffed, rolled her eyes, and leaned backward into her chair. “Gee, thanks.”

“Just be happy I’m saying anything nice about you at all,” Allison retorted, swiping the same bottle and, after again attempting to sip bitter moonshine only to sourly discover that the fairy of liquor had refused to refill the same container in the few seconds the bottle had laid dormant, tossed the glass to an unoccupied section of the room where the durable material thudded unsatisfyingly to the floor.

The redhead snarled. Then she asked a question orally to her subject and mentally to herself: “Why do I even follow ya?”

“You know, I’ve been with you less than a week,” the other woman explained, irritated, “and I’ve been asking myself the same damn question. I haven’t asked you stay.”

This was the first that Cait realized this. Never once had the mysterious stranger ordered her to do anything of the sort.

Allison’s elbows hit the table as she continued, “We share, or at least we’re _supposed_ to share, all the caps, but that’s about all I can think of for possible reasons that would result in you following me around like a lost puppy dog-.”

At the sound of “dog”, the pooch’s head raised, and his master scratched its noggin while uttering, “No, not you, Dogmeat.”

“-You constantly piss and moan about every little thing I do. You insult my choices, insult my style, insult my dog- fuck you for that, by the way. You completely ignore my orders, and then you nearly get yourself killed because, oh golly gee, Ol’ Alli was right about something for once! Seriously Cait, why the fuck do you follow me?” She finished breathlessly, inquiring the redhead to spill the beans.

There was no immediate answer for that. It was a solid question, one that she wished to answer herself.

“Well?” the other woman requested impatiently.

Still nothing, only gazing through the shades over her eyes to try and discern why she didn’t run off and do her own thing.

Allison exhaled when she received no answer. The woman glanced around once, then snagged her pack, holstered her sidearm, and shrouded her mouth with the cloth. “Well, if you want to keep bitching at me, we’re heading out right now.”

She left without a goodbye.

 

**ooooo**

 

Why _did_ Cait stick around? The question ate at her insides like a hungry rat entombed in a sack of meat. Was it the woman’s profound morals that locked her in place? Was it the woman’s habit of stirring up trouble wherever they went? Was it the source of an easy income that influenced her to protect the other redhead? Or was the answer that Cait was thirsty, and the strong figure of the wastelander left her craving to share a bed with what was sure to be an attractive woman hidden beneath all those layers?

Cait reflected upon this as she trailed after the woman through the streets of Diamond City, through throngs of homeless and poor that assumed that her smaller stature implied that random fondling and feeling her up were A-Okay. Through shadows and clammy alleys they walked, the mutt scouting the passageways ahead. Lead piping and corrugated steel constituted most of the walls, cottony, hot vapor seeping from rifts and breaches.

They stalked the hub again, the old man with the guitar plucking his strings and the gentlemen above quietly dealing their decks of cards. They sky was still grey, and the air was still moist and soggy. Puddles sloshed beneath their feet, brown sludge coating their boots thoroughly without gaining permission from the invaders that trampled their territory.

Cait discovered the answer to her question here, in this circle of trade.

The redhead noticed that Allison had split off some time ago, Dogmeat still leading the pack onward. Her eyes scanned the area once, then twice before a familiar, flowy overcoat seized her attention. Allison approached the stand where she’d squabbled with the incompetent man. Said vendor’s focus lay entirely on seducing a courtesan as ugly as he appeared, and not on the vulnerable storefront that blared “MASSIVE SALE” several feet away. Cait gave him props for having the self-awareness to shoot in his own league.

He did not possess the self-awareness, however, to detect the slightest ruffle of his trousers as the ghost-like survivor deftly picked the man’s pocket. The redhead only perceived what just occurred because she, herself, claimed to hold skill in shadier tactics that also included unfastening locks with bobby pins.

The wanderer was a professional: this was the only explanation as to how quick and precisely her hands maneuvered to unlock the stand’s register and the safe of goodies below it. Dexterous digits plundered the register, stealing not too much as to raise alarm but not too little as to render the whole escapade unworthy of the time and risk, and then multiple boxes… yup, those were cases of 10 millimeter shells she dumped into the pouches at her sides. All of this happened in seconds, and as soon as she’d come, she’d gone.

Allison wasn’t finished yet, however, and just as the hillbilly pivoted to return, the wanderer plowed into the man, slipping the key into his pocket as he tumbled to the sopping ground.

“Ow! Watch it ya moron!” he hollered at the woman looming over him.

“Oops,” she flatly stated, but offered no hand for his aid.

And then Allison was in front of her, sack stuffed with supplies swinging to and fro as she sauntered toward the exit to the Great Green Jewel.

It was things like that, little events here and there, that prompted the disagreeable redhead to continue to tail Allison to parts unknown. They were reminders that Allison was not a simple-minded brute that enjoyed the gory carnage that accompanied killing; she was in fact a complex person outfitted with complex ideals. Sometimes, she was charitable and kind when such an act could be afforded. Other times, she became a cruel apparatus of vengeance and retribution, striking back at those blinded by power or greed.

Perhaps the greatest reason why Cait tromped beside the woman resided in the fact that the wanderer was not perfect and never tried to be. Her head never filled itself with the foolish thought that the Commonwealth could be cleansed of evil, or that the settlers could unite to form an ultimate brigade of justice and ensure a brighter future for the young. No, this woman never listened to misguided idiots lost in their fantasies. This was a woman who could make mistakes. This was a woman capable of literally drinking herself to death. This was a woman who delved into Hell without an escape plan, and sometimes she suffered the burns.

Cait liked that. It gave her hope. That there was still a chance that she was a good person, despite massive flaws in her personality. That even the best at what they do aren’t impeccable human beings.

She clung to this hope like she clung to the woman clambering up the steps to leave the grey city of fogged diamonds, speculating as to where this little adventure would take them next.


	3. The Trek Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, guys and gals! Thanks for the attention and the bookmarks and the kudos and whatnot, seeing as this is my first story ever on this site. Here's another chapter for you guys, hope you enjoy it. Please leave a comment!

Unapologetically sweltering and blisteringly yellow, the sun tread water in a sea of pastel blue as the sole survivor of nuclear holocaust cast his vibrancy over the wasteland below. Though the being floated completely unaffected by the world hovering below him, he was unimaginably angry; they’d ruined everything for themselves. They’d taken his light, his very essence that fed the flora that allowed them to breathe, and though they had every chance to use his power to better their position and save a dying planet, they’d succumbed to human nature and torched the place to the ashen ground. They’d squandered the precious nature of life and science and society and now they had nothing because of their savage arrogance and deaf ignorance.

As if to remind them of their foolish misdeeds, he burned brighter, hovered longer, and silently screamed so much louder until the only thing they knew became _his_ wrathful presence during the agonizing length he loomed over Earth. And when he disappeared, his utter absence bathed the land in a frosty cold where even the hardiest of crumbly-leaved crops froze over. If adequate shelter wasn’t discovered, the possibility of a bone-chilling demise rose to astronomical heights. Twelve at noon could be mistaken for the summers of the hottest deserts, and twelve at night in the Commonwealth was indistinguishable from one in the melted arctic ice caps.

But no matter how many died, no matter how many times the human race proved itself an awful force only capable of total destruction the sun always returned; like a faithful watchdog still guarding his master who beat him so terribly. That was good wasn’t it? That the last good thing about this hunk of rock hadn’t abandoned them? Surely, if the sun truly held no hope for humanity and its heritage, the ethereal being would’ve deserted this desert and concentrated his godly principle elsewhere? Two hundred years trudged by and still the orb decided to wake every morning of every day. Granted, the temperature could practically melt steel, but the sun still shone.

Allison determined this a promising sign as she crunched below his scorching heat across the tar of the crumbling highway. The path that crawled infinitely ahead had lost the definitiveness of its color, but the greyed out expanse was still just dark and dense enough to reflect shimmering waves of heat into the baking atmosphere. Behind sultry, wavy curtains, and past orange, rusting monstrosities that were old-world automobiles the uneven landscape drawled, lanky, leafless boughs of bark sprouting from a large multitude of dead trunks. The dirt appeared as shriveled and austere as the billowing blanket of decaying grass whose individual stalks rasped against each other, creating the most grating, unsettling whisper. Overall, the environment mimicked its inhabitants: harsh, dusty, and difficult to look at for too long a time.

Beneath her heavy layers of leather, even more layers of greasy sweat coated her skin, and the dampness of her bra shifted uncomfortably against her chest. Her apparel that covered her totally protected her from the uncompromising rays soaking the wasteland, but unfortunately the bundles of rugged rawhide served to cook her in her own, personal oven. The shakes had subsided for a while, as she’d managed to snag a quick moment of privacy to shoot up, but that was a good time ago, and the pseudo-scientist inside her suspected that she was sweating her precious chemicals through her pores. It certainly smelled like it, in this suffocating cocoon.

Unlike his master, Dogmeat could not shed his shaggy coat of fur, and even while he trotted happily alongside she recognized the signs of exhaustion. The cap of her canteen proved much more difficult to remove than was reasonable, and the tiny frustration the lid caused her amplified when weighed with the roasting air. However she, as any sane person, preferred a canteen that held water too well than not well enough so she didn’t allow the nuisance to crush her spirits as wholly as it could have. The dried dog drool crusting the cap shut probably played a large role, but Allison refused to acknowledge this, opting to blame the world instead.

Her arm outstretched as she tipped the container and emptied a good portion of the canteen over his hairy head as they slogged forth. The water was warm, but Dogmeat appreciated the gesture nonetheless. A short, relieved bark escaped his snout and an enthusiastic, goofy growl rumbled as he angled his gaping maw straight upward to engage the watery fiend head-on. The stream of clear liquid splashed directly against his palate, and he immediately regretted his actions, consequently lowering his mouth and hacking up most of what he’d swallowed onto the ground. He never halted his bouncy scamper, even as he stained the asphalt, and to complete the ditzy mishap he flashed her a big, dopey grin with pink, slobbery tongue dangling out.

‘ _What?_ ’ he seemed to ask as his master chuckled in dry wheezes.

“Dumbass,” she muttered light-heartedly.

Her eyes glanced over her shoulder at the brawler whose own attire was as sparse and inadequate as her patience, and her ugly disposition showed in her annoyed saunter. Cait was no doubt cooler and more comfortable at the moment, but later when they would wrap themselves beneath blankets to survive the nightly winter, the scratchy wool would greatly irritate the throbbing, crispy burns that would turn every inch of pale to a red as stark as the woman’s hair. Cait had mistaken Allison’s previous order to throw on a coat as a sentimental statement, but the truth was far more selfish: Allison realized how the sunburns would affect Cait’s mood down the road, and she preferred not to deal with the bitchy aftermath of Cait’s poor decisions.

As usual, her companion had disdainfully shrugged off the advice with a snort and a rude remark, and already Allison endured the repercussions of the brawler’s actions.

“Can’t wait to get outta this Goddamn heat,” Cait moaned, feet scratching against the road, face contorted in agony. Cait retrieved another bad decision from the pack, a bottle of beer, and used a switchblade to pry off the cap. A few sloppy gulps later followed by an equally sloppy belch and something shattered against the asphalt. A brief glance from Allison confirmed that, yes, Cat had just guzzled an entire bottle of liquor. In the desert.

Allison had been sure that she was the biggest train wreck in the Commonwealth, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Dogmeat slowed his pace until his flank brushed against Cait’s calf, begging with curious eyes. Clearly, he expected his share.

“Fock off ya stupid mutt!” she snapped, but when she tried to lash out at him he ducked away and snarled, canines poking from drawn lips on either side. “Oh, fockin’ bite me.”

Cait yelped as Dogmeat chomped on her fingers, then dashed to the side before his victim could retaliate. Cait stopped, fists balled, glaring furiously as she yanked the bat from it’s holster and made to swing, Dogmeat dropping low and preparing for a fight.

Two incredibly loud and incredibly startling gunshots accompanied the explosion of tarmac between the two, and both automatically jumped away. Cait, bewildered and flighty as a hummingbird on Psycho, stared at Allison whose rifle was leveled at Cait’s head. No one said anything, no one growled or twitched a muscle. They just glared at each other.

Cait finally understood what it was she was to do, and, carefully, she crouched, lay the bat against the ground, then straightened with hands balled at her sides. Her expression was the epitome of betrayal and confusion.

Allison, weapon still aimed at Cait, whistled and jerked her masked head in her own direction. Dogmeat prowled to her flank, watching every little movement and completely ready to tear to shreds who he’d shared a room with for weeks.

More purposeful silence on Allison’s part, attempting to further throw off the aggressor. Then in an even, commanding voice, she made her demands.

“Cait, what was rule number two?”

Cait huffed. “Like I’d remember some bullshit ya spouted weeks ago off the top of me head.”

“ _What was rule number two, Cait?_ ” she seethed, weapon never swaying.

Cait threw her hands up and snorted.

Weary, wholly exasperated, and grouchy, Allison couldn’t control her trigger finger as it reflexively twitched at Cait’s sudden movement. The bullet whizzed through the shock of hair above Cait’s right ear. Again, the sudden sound shocked Cait still, arms frozen in a desperately conciliatory gesture.

Allison hadn’t actually meant to fire a round, but she attempted to play it off as a purposeful action. Her own shock did calm her considerably though.

“Gah! What the Hell!?” Cait yapped.

“What. Was. Rule. Number Two.” Through monumental effort, her voice didn’t waver.

Cait tried to appear stoic, but her eyes gave away her anger at her helplessness.

“Ya wouldn’t shoot me,” Cait spat defiantly, attempting to sound tough and unperturbed.

“Wouldn’t I Cait? Are you sure about that?” There was no break in what sounded like very real threatening undertones.

Cait studied the wanderer closely, a gust of singing air ruffling Cait’s stringy red hair. Perhaps she was thinking back to the first time they’d met, and how she’d left no survivors in her wake? Maybe she was recalling the vengeful personality of the woman who was pointing a loaded gun in her face? Or maybe she was remembering what happened to the last sorry soul who’d dared to lay anything on her furry companion?

Allison figured she could shoot Cait, if it really came to it. She would do it with immediate regret and guilt, and she wouldn’t shoot to kill- she _couldn’t_ shoot to kill, not someone she knew so wel; that was too personal, even for her- but she could do it.

However, she persisted with the tough-guy demeanor.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Cait. No one would care. No one but the wild dogs and the bloodbugs.”

Cait still searched Allison’s profile. Apparently, Cait believed her.

“What is rule number two, Cait?”

Allison’s relentlessness irked Cait, but recognition met her when she glanced to Dogmeat.

“Fine. I won’t touch yer bloody dog,” she conceded.

“You’ve already promised that. And broken it. I’m gonna need something better, Cait.”

Cait looked ready to sock the wanderer, but the gun impressively hadn’t shifted an inch.

“Well, whaddya want from me?”

“You can start by apologizing,” Allison informed.

“To who?” Cait appeared flabbergasted as she realized, “To the bloody dog?!”

“Yes.”

“I’m not apologizin’ ta that mutt.”

“Oh yes you are.”

“…”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“…”

“ _Cait._ ”

Cait grumbled something.

“I didn’t catch that. Care to repeat?”

“…”

“ _Care to repeat?_ ”

“I’m sorry,” through her teeth. Dogmeat hesitated, head cocked, but approved after a brief period and his fur smoothed.

At that, the gun lowered, but Allison’s guard didn’t. “Thank you,” she curtly replied, but it was a knee-jerk response from before the Great War when manners mattered that hadn’t died off yet. She stepped aside, motioned passed her, and said, “I think you should take point for now.”

Cait bristled, aware that a gun would be at her back. “What is this, some kinda death march?”

“It will be if you try anything foolish.” Perhaps those parameters were too stringent: most of what Cait did was foolish.

Cait sneered, but confidently strode passed and didn’t bother to ensure that her travel mates tailed her as she kept walking.

“It’s like babysitting children,” Allison muttered inaudibly. Dogmeat mumbled in agreement.

“Hey, you’re part of the problem, bub,” Allison explained.

Dogmeat ignored the comment entirely. In many ways, the fiery redhead and the scruffy mongrel were very alike.

 

**ooooo**

 

The trio wasn’t scuffling aimlessly through an area where so few returned from. They ambled toward an objective: a certain neighborhood Allison once called home. This was not the first attempt to visit her old place of resting, but it was the first with a human companion alongside her.

She could never quite complete the journey to where she’d lost everything and everyone, and she didn’t quite know why. The farthest she’d dragged her anxious feet was just before the monument sentinel who permanently gazed into the cloudless sky, and no matter how much she yearned to make peace with herself, something about Sanctuary Hills scared the shit out of her.

But she’d given up on too much already, and so she’d determined that she couldn’t afford to blow this off. This time, she’d placed faith in her companion’s presence, hoping that they would lend her courage though the battle was strictly mental. It was because of this that she accepted the brawler’s brutal vulgarity, but only during the short period she required assistance. Afterwards, when her demons were excised, she would definitely crack down on Cait’s social ineptitude. Definitely.

They trekked onward, and after a time Cait had filtered to the rear of the group again, but said nothing, just stirred herself in her own self-pity.

Allison sarcastically considered tossing a few tips in Cait’s direction concerning that particular topic, and even her sardonic self knew it a bad idea.

They continued to walk silently in a quiet environment of muted colors. Through winding, rocky wildernesses littered with native and artificial debris. Passed grungy billboards spiraling into disrepair as the radioactive air razed the once flamboyant hues into dull peelings. Over hilltops where the city’s broken skyline glimmered with what once was in the far distance. Through dead forests where gnarly limbs granted the smallest amount of shade, and even the _shade_ was hot and muggy. Through barren fields flat as the eye could see where parched winds sucked the life from anything not already lamenting in the throes of death.

And then there was something other than this Hell up ahead.

“Fockin’ finally…” Cait moaned.

A familiar little diner lazed at the edge of the road. The windows were shattered and the strips of corrugated chrome circumnavigating the entire structure were rusted, but they still sparkled. A classic, blue and red “OPEN” sign flashed in regular intervals, and the chutes above spat smoke into the sky as the smell of roasting food wafted through the air. However the scent didn’t rumble her tummy as expected; it smelled of wasteland cooking, of burnt meat altered by years of living in a nuclear desert. No wonder the Commonwealth raved over ramen.

There were two people standing in the parking lot, looking into the diner from a distance. There was shouting, and lots of it, between two groups: the ones in the lot and another posse she could only assume was holed up in the building. A proper standoff.

Allison surveyed the area encompassing the diner. The road was elevated over a dip in the terrain, resting on a manmade bridge of earth. So was the diner and a small area of land behind it, which meant a stealthy approach would be near impossible without a distraction.

She formulated a plan.

“Cait, you keep walking. Dogmeat and I will circle around from the rear.”

“Oh, so I’m the distraction,” Cait retorted.

“Yes. We’ll meet you at the top of the hill.” With that, Allison ducked behind a series of hills and stalked away.

She analyzed the rifle in her hands as she quickly strode around, pulling the bolt to inspect the chamber and ensuring the sights lined correctly. She had no clue whether or not they would shoot on sight- the figures in the diner or the strangers in the lot- and so as she arrived at an angle that suited her, she ducked low and sprinted the gap, rifle against her shoulder and Dogmeat at the ready.

Allison reached the diner before Cait. She hugged the wall, pointing to the opposite corner behind her and commanding in German, “ _Wait._ ” Dogmeat scampered over to his destination and crouched, furry tail swishing against the ground. Everything was set. A voice with an Irish lilt hollered something at someone that wasn’t her, and she emerged from the shadows to confront the two outside. Simply standing in front of the window was risky, but no one fired through the empty frame and so she resumed her trek.

There were only two strangers before the building. Both of their backs were turned away from Allison as she approached noiselessly, and both appeared very, very on edge considering the arrival of Cait. The one skulking closest to her was a tall, black female with short, black hair. She wore leather pants and a matching jacket whose sleeves had been torn from the torso and bulky slabs of metal covered one arm. The woman’s partner was a Caucasian male of average height and average build for someone who fought to live every day, and he wore a similar outfit. Their lack of hygiene and their unnatural aggression lead Allison to conclude that they were members of a raider gang nearby.

They hadn’t opened fire on Cait, who was walking straight for the duo with a confrontational bounce in her step. Their self-control was odd.

“Whoa whoa whoa, easy there, Cait,” the front man warned.

They knew her companion’s name somehow, and judging by the way Cait’s face blanched at their remark, the reason was something unpleasant. Whatever the reason, Cait had stumbled in her tracks and was stuttering to comment, but ultimately failed. That was also odd.

They aimed their weapons, blocks of bolted wood and melted steel, at Allison’s frozen partner and the same man said, “I’m only saying this once: turn around, and walk away. This doesn’t involve you.”

Allison spooked them both when she barked, “You keep pointing your toys at our faces or it’s gonna involve us.”

The woman spun to stare down the spiral-grooved barrel of a rifle and became instantly paralyzed. The man saw this and leveled his makeshift pistol at the stranger, ready to fire until a loud, vicious bark erupted from his side. Imitating his partner, he made no sudden movements as only his grizzled mug swiveled to stare frightfully at a great, snarling beast ready to pounce and rip his esophagus from his stubbly throat. He tapped his partner’s shoulder to catch her attention, and lowered his gun gradually.

“Okay, okay, just take it easy, okay? Okay,” he nervously stammered. “We’ll lower our weapons, alright? Just don’t do anything crazy.”

“I think killing a couple of raiders is one of the sanest things anyone can do. Don’t you agree?” Allison signaled to Cait, who’d snapped out of her trance but still appeared mildly unsure of herself. Now that she was close, Allison noticed there was also very poorly concealed… rage. Like she wanted to wring the man’s neck and make him beg.

“Wha…?” Cait asked.

“Nevermind,” Allison mumbled, frustrated.

“Hey, hey it’s not like that,” the man tried to explain.

“Then what is it like?”

“It’s a simple business dispute, got it? That woman,” he pointed to the only person in the diner Allison could see, “Trudy, is sitting on a pile of goods she owes me. I tried reasoning with her-.”

“Let me guess. She’s refused, and now you’re just gonna light the place up and take what you want, right?” she finished for him.

“Uh…”

She squeezed the trigger lightly. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Well… yes?” he offered meekly, aware that she could shoot them both right here, right now. He’d taken the high(ish) road, so she decided to follow his good example.

She didn’t cease aiming at the duo, but relaxed her tone. “You said she’s sitting on a pile of goods.”

“Yes.”

“And you say she owes you them.”

“Yes, that’s right,” he said, eager to please.

“What exactly does she owe you for?”

“You see, it’s like this: I sell that woman, Trudy, chems, and she gives me caps and the occasional meal.” He suddenly seemed very meek and very aware of his wrongdoing as he explained, “Aaaaand when her son, Patrick, had his eighteenth birthday I might have sold him some Jet.” He winced. “Then some more.” Wince. “Then a lot more. Now he’s in debt.”

“You fucking scumbag,” she snarled losing her cool. Her trigger finger itched, knowing the pain this man caused an undeserving young man but rationality seized her digit before emotion. This was partially “Trudy’s” fault as well. She didn’t want to play peacekeeper and negotiate when she had somewhere to be, but at the same time she couldn’t just leave filth like this here. She needed to talk to the family, to “Trudy”, and hear their side of the story before she played god and decided the raiders’ fates. Also, the man was begging and she surmised he should at least be able to defend himself verbally, if not physically.

“Wait, wait!” he cried, “Listen! If you can get her to pay up, well leave and none of you will ever see us ever again!”

“Or I could shoot you. I’d never see you again that way, as well,” Allison countered.

“Oh, no no no, you don’t want to shoot me!”

“And why is that?”

“I’m a chem dealer! I can get you chems at a fair price!” he offered.

Her lip pulled though he couldn’t see it. “I can just loot them off of your dead body.”

“Oh, I don’t have them with me right now. I’m just a proxy, I swear!”

“Besides, what makes you think I want chems?” she queried, scared that he’d spot her for what she was in front of her companions.

Instead, he leaned in close and whispered, “I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about your friend.”

And then it clicked. This man had dealt chems to Cait at one time, but likely more than one time if he knew her by name. That explains why Cait so resembled a ghost at the moment, with a face whiter than normal.

Allison’s arm was beginning to tire, so she exclaimed, “Alright, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna go in there and I’m gonna talk to this “Trudy”. Then, I’m gonna come back and figure out what I’m gonna do to you. Sound fair?”

They nodded their heads, but Allison was fairly certain she’d end up killing both of them. “Watch them closely. I’ll be right back,” she commanded her companions. Then she pivoted on her heels and sauntered toward the door that creaked as she heaved the thing open.

 

**ooooo**

 

Of all the faces she expected to see, Wolfgang’s was not among them. He was a nomadic merchant who traveled across the continent, so of course there was a _chance_ they’d cross paths, but why’d he have to show up _now_? And _here_?

She’d considered this man the devil for the longest time. A silver-tongued, blue-eyed serpent who’d coerced a younger, naïve Cait into sampling the fruit of Eden. A man who ruined lives with a simple string of phrases that would break down the most resolute of characters. A charismatic chem pusher who could talk his way through the pearly gates despite the awful things he’d done. This was the man who’d persuaded Cait to inject that first vial of venom, that poison that corroded her organs and turned her insides into a viscous human stew. And she hated him so, _fucking much_ for it.

To see the man she simultaneously feared and loathed begging like the little bitch he was felt unbelievably satisfying, but her hunger would only be quenched when he was dead.

The slippery serpent himself stood much taller now that his company did not consist of the intimidating hulk of a woman. With the real muscle gone, he turned slowly, donning his second mask and eyeing Cait with a grin so mischievous and wicked her stomach flopped.

Then her blood boiled.

“Hey, there, doll. Long time, no see, eh?” he slithered.

Her grip on her baseball bat could’ve splintered the thing. She’d never yearned to kill anyone, not even her parents, not even _herself_ , as severely as she wanted to brain this fucker right now. How dare he boast the audacity to address her like she was still one of his playthings?

“Call me that again, and ya won’t call anyone that ever again, ya spineless piece of shit,” she snarled.

“Aww, Cait,” he faux moped, “was it really that bad?”

“It was worse,” she husked. And suddenly she felt the bruises in full again, the purple, ugly lacerations that ached and stayed for weeks, sometimes months. She remembered how, once upon a time, she enjoyed listening to that voice whisper into her eager ear rather than trying to wriggle from his clutches whenever he managed to wrap his unwelcome arms around her. She recalled when, once upon a time, she anticipated dosing down and soaring through that stellar high rather than dreading every second the poison wasn’t in her system. She remembered how, once upon a time, he used sweet words and complements rather than manipulating her conscience and guilt tripping her every move until her self-esteem smothered itself over his split knuckles and his sadistic insults. She remembered that, once upon a time, she was a dumb little girl mourning over her own rotten luck and so desperate for a friend, for a lover, for _anyone_ that made her feel semi-whole again that she’d signed away her soul to a demon in a man’s body. Most importantly, she recalled how, once upon a time, she’d trusted someone.

But once upon a time was long, long ago.

Wolfgang and his newest toy averted their cocky gazes to the silhouettes inside the diner. All seemed to be going well, and that obviously irritated, and frightened, Wolfgang.

“What’s the matter?” Cait taunted. “Scared that ya can’t talk yer way outta this one, fer once?”

“Shut up,” he snapped suddenly.

Cait hated that she flinched reflexively.

There was movement inside the diner. A shift of shadows and a nodding of heads, and the larger form glided to the opposite end of the row of windows. She paused halfway and shoveled through her massive backpack, grasping several containers; some she unscrewed a top or popped open the tab of a box and others. Then, the door inched open, and Allison slipped between the cracks.

All three knew what Allison was thinking of. It was in her stance, the squareness of her shoulders and the tension in every meticulous step The absolute calm in her off hand and the way she clutched the rifle with the single other. How her head angled just low enough so that her tricorn obscured just her glasses as if to conceal the intensity in her eyes that could be seen through the tinted lenses.

Allison was out for blood.

“Ah shit,” Wolfgang cursed, forgetting entirely the vicious dog below and the scorned brawler to his side.

Their weapons raised with only a single target: the woman stalking toward them.

Cait acted before she thought.

“No!” she cried, and shoved Wolfgang as hard as possible. His bulk slammed directly into his lady friend, and both stumbled, firing and missing. Allison was nowhere to be seen; she’d probably ducked back into the diner, so Cait focused her attention on the duo.

With a snarl and an impossibly loud bark releasing the kind of fury only unleashed by Mother Nature’s beasts, Dogmeat lunged at the woman, tackling her to the muted lot and wrestling to latch his jaws around her neck. She screamed like only slaughtered prey could screech as he ripped and tore and tossed blood everywhere.

Wolfgang tried to help his partner, aiming his pistol at the furry attacker, but solid, lacquered maple _thock!_ ed against his skull. Cait didn’t know why she was so mad- well, she _did_ , but there something other than revenge fueling her rampage, something she couldn’t confront in the middle of battle- but she did know she could finally have her vengeance, and the proximity of her dream lent her strength and more fury than she’d felt in a long time.

She struck again, connecting purely, and drawing a pained, gargled howl from her victim. She hit him again, and he dropped to his knees. She smacked his back, and ribs cracked. But he wasn’t screaming loud enough, so she hit him again. More bones broke, but she just grew angrier.

He collapsed to his side, fingers scrabbling at the rocky surface of the asphalt to try and crawl away but she smacked the back of his palm and he screeched.

But it still wasn’t enough. Frothing waves of rage surged through all of her chest, up her throat, and out her mouth. She remembered what he’d caused her, how he was the reason she slunk away to slam more Psycho into her arm.

She hit him again.

He raised a weak arm to block it, but the wood didn’t care: the appendage flopped limply, brokenly, pathetically with each successive blow.

She hit him again.

He was whimpering. She was screaming as loud as her lungs allowed her.

She hit him again.

Damnit, the fury only grew greater with each blow that _thock!_ ed against his crushed wrist. She hit harder, but she only felt angrier. She was so angry, her innards turned to molten lava, all the spite and malice and bitterness she’d felt because she couldn’t live without shoving that stupid shit into her arms burst in her furious rampage. But it wasn’t working. Her ears rang deafeningly. Nothing was working. The scent of blood disappeared; she could smell nothing at all. Nothing was working. The metallic tang of blood as she bit through her tongue vanished. Nothing was working. God fucking dammit _why wasn’t anything fucking WORKING_

She hit him again.

And again.

And _again._

And _again,_ and _again, and again, and again, and again_ but no matter how much power she belted him with, she was still so empty.

So she stopped.

Her breath came in ragged pants, her throat was dehydrated from screeching, and her arms throbbing from the effort. Wolfgang didn’t move, but she felt no retribution, no sense of absolution transformed the eternal misery squeezing and crushing and searing her heart until the poor muscle was nothing more than a crumpled, discarded organ.

She finally noticed the exchange of gunfire after her senses returned in full and then some. She swiveled around. Wispy puffs of smoke vanished as fast as they spawned from the bottom of the hill, but she was too exhausted to care for own safety. She supposed this was to be expected: Wolfgang always had a backup plan.

Cait’s gaze returned downward, but the man was missing. Puzzled, she looked up.

Five gunshots. Sudden. Distinct. Punctuated with a sharp _crack!_

Five times a bullet pushed through her corset, punctured her flesh, skin rippling in waves from the impact point.

Five times a mist of blood spattered to the ground, viscous, drippy scarlet colleting in strings that swayed in the dry breeze.

Five times her body lurched as each slug slammed into her torso, a step backward for each bullet.

Not two feet away, kneeling unsteadily on his knees, was Wolfgang. His left arm dangled flaccid and shattered in as many ways as an arm could shatter. However, his right clutched a makeshift revolver, five chambers empty.

He was not grinning. He was glaring at a shocked Cait.

Her strength abandoned her when she needed it most. She crumbled to the ground, prone on her back. Her spine arched skyward as miniscule amounts of red spurted from her ravaged torso as she wheezed and gasped and choked for air. There was nothing in her world but pain. Pain, and horrible, terrifying suffocation.

She panicked, and that exacerbated the problem. Syrupy, scalding blood oozed steadily from the holes in her stomach and her chest, and her hands scrabbled at the five areas of spiking agony to try and stifle the bleeding.

She felt the vibrations of uncoordinated footsteps coming her way: Wolfgang was coming to finish the job. She couldn’t die like this, to him. He would win, and she would’ve accomplished nothing in this worthless life of hers. So she rolled onto her stomach, and clambered away, her injuries grating against the roughness of the floor while one hand scratched and clawed at the pack on her back.

A foot punted her side, and Cait choked a sob but complied and rolled to return onto her back. Wolfgang looked like an inflatable pool toy, with as many dents and unnatural contortions as he sported then, but Cait probably looked worse.

He grimaced. “Nothing personal, doll.”

“Fo- _Urgh_ ,” she tried to curse, but talking hurt too much.

So she spouted her argument with the item in her right hand. Her arm extended skyward, fingers wrapped around the grip of a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun, and she pulled the trigger. The recoil ripped the weapon from her flimsy grasp, but not before Wolfgang’s face exploded in a spectacular burst of blood, bone, and brain. Fine, gory chunks splattered over Cait’s face and she winced as the hot guts peppered her complexion. His body slumped backwards, granting Cait a clear view of the blue, stainless sky.

Here she would die, she realized, abandoned in a parking lot with five holes in her chest, her back to the pavement and her eyes staring into the sun. What a shitty way to die.

Someone grabbed the straps of her backpack and pulled, hard. Cait yelped, but said nothing more as the muzzle of a pistol intruded upon her peaceful image of the atmosphere. The muzzle flashed several times, then angled somewhere different. Hot brass pocked her abdomen and showered around her as the ground moved under her. Air brushed her pale face and something growled and groaned into her ear. After a few bleary moments she realized both her travel buddies were dragging her to shelter, Dogmeat fastening his jaws around one strap while Allison pulled the other of her backpack and used her free hand to fire at their foes.

Allison was saying something, but Cait couldn’t make it out: she was too concentrated on the futile effort of sucking in air, but everything she drank in whistled through the holes in her lungs. Soon gruff gravel gave way to cool tile and a ceiling abruptly veiled the sun. She was dragged further until she rested far into the diner. Allison’s face leaned close, shouted something, then retreated. Shards of glass scattered throughout the air, and bullets thudded into the metal walls of the building.

Cait still couldn’t breathe. She still couldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. And now it seemed that she was losing her sight as well: blackness crept from the corners of her peripheral, fading darkness encroaching upon the center of her vision. She felt not the soothing temperature of the floor, only the pain that scratched at her insides and caused her to wheeze. This must be the end. This was it. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? What she tried to do before, but couldn’t?

Then Cait realized:

She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready yet. She was only twenty-six: she still had a good portion of her life to live, so many opportunities she’d yet to even attempt, so many more people who needed to pay for their misdeeds. Sure, most of it was unlikely, but there was still the slimmest chance that her long-forgotten dreams could sprout and flourish.

What would happen when she died?

This was what scared her more than anything. Was there anything after death? Would the blackness cover her vision and she would simply cease to exist? Would her struggles and her suffering in life all be in vain? Or would her depraved soul be cast to the infinite inferno where she would join her parents, her slavers, her foes? She knew if there was a Heaven that she was not invited; she was aware of her cruel nature. There was no possible happy ending for Cait simply because there never was for her. And that fact never distressed her quite as much as it did now.

Death was permanent, and so would be her punishment. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it as she lay on the floor of a pre-war diner, blood seeping from her mouth, eyelids gradually closing.

Cait did the only thing she could: she sobbed. The action was difficult, but everything was difficult, and releasing her pent up frustration and stress with her shitty life felt… good. As good as crying while dying on a floor can feel.

Those last few sparks of hope that accompanied any dire situation refused to surrender, and Cait wished she could snuff them out as they only caused more pain when they were dashed.

“I don’t-,” she spluttered through pitiful tears, attempting to catch the attention of anyone that could help. “I don’t-.”

‘ _I don’t wanna die!_ ’ she was trying to cry.

Bit by bit, the gunfire curbed, and now there were only a few odd _pop!_ s and _crack!_ s in the background. Maybe now someone would hear her pleas for aid?

“Help-,” she gasped, kicking herself for ditching her dignity in her final moments. What a surprise that was. “I don’t-.”

“You’re not gonna die, just stay with me!” Allison’s voice was so close and crystal clear it startled her. For the first time, she followed the wanderer’s orders without question.

Through her tunnel vision, she spied an older woman with white hair crouching behind the counter as a decreasing amount of bullets screamed overhead. Allison passed something to the woman, a rifle and spare magazines, with instructions to “keep them busy!” Palms dipped underneath her corset, then disappeared empty handed. The hazy figure that was her traveling companion pulled something from her sleeve. A distinct click later, and Cait identified it as a pocketknife.

“Hold my hand!” Allison yelled, and Cait was grateful the wanderer understood her current hearing deficiency. She did as was told, and didn’t react when the buttons of her corset clattered to the ground as Allison ripped the garment open. Cait didn’t wear a bra, but neither’s interest were on her rosy tits at that moment.

“This is gonna hurt!”

A stifled, raspy screech as the blade pierced her flesh, and that was all Cait could handle. She’d endured too much physical agony for her body’s condition. The darkness enveloped everything, and her eyelids fluttered shut as she passed out from the strain. She couldn’t even suck in one last breath into her burning lungs.

 

**ooooo**

 

“Cait?! Dammit!” Allison hollered, but still she applied the blade.

The slugs hadn’t passed cleanly through, which meant they were floating in meat space. The damage untethered foreign objects could wreak on internal organs was indeterminable, but later surgery would fall upon the hands of the Commonwealth “doctors” and she refused to trust those imposters with such a delicate operation. So the deed of removing the bullets weighed on her own shoulders.

Honestly, she was glad Cait wouldn’t be conscious for this; they had no chems that would dull the senses on hand and Allison could only choose between careful, slow cuts or sloppy, speedy cuts.

The first had lodged itself in her small intestine. Dexterous fingers swam in a bubbling pool of gore, but after a vigorous search she pinched the bullet between index and middle digits. She applied makeshift gauze, then moved on.

The second was very near the first, just a little higher and to the left. An incision just wide enough later, and she dug that bullet out and plopped the bloody object next to the first.

The third was buried in her liver, and Allison cut her open and dove in. After tossing that bullet with the others, she checked Cait’s pulse. It was so faint, but the hardest stretch was yet to come.

Someone tapped her shoulder. Trudy was trying to return her rifle, informing, “I think we got ‘em,” but opted to lay the gun to the side when she noticed Allison’s hands that were covered in crimson.

“C’mon, Cait, stay with me. Don’t give up on me now,” she muttered. Dogmeat trotted through the door, apparently unharmed, and plopped next to his master to stare intently at their operation. He was way too calm for her taste.

The last two resided comfortably in her lungs, beneath a ribcage that was still entirely intact. These were deep, too deep to slip her fingers between the cage of bone and pluck them out. She either needed to smash the ribcage or pull the slugs out with a tool. This was a diner; they had to have tongs of some sort right? She just had to pray that they hadn’t been looted.

“Trudy, do you have tongs?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Tongs, Dammit! Do you have tongs?” Allison grew increasingly impatient as Cait’s pulse decreased rapidly.

“I can check.”

“Yes, please check,” she requested, extremely exasperated with Trudy’s inability to grasp the importance that _her companion was dying_.

The tongs she received were small, thank God, and the curious part of her that wasn’t fully concentrated on saving a life wondered what they were used for. Grapes, maybe? She fished around, aware of the damage she was causing to the lungs, but managed to snag both bits of shrapnel. She pulled several stimpacks from her own pack, throwing the cap to the corner, then jabbed the needle into Cait’s arm. A _hiss!_ and the serum emptied into her companion’s arm.

Two digits checked for a pulse, and when the almost undetectable thump grew stronger with every second, she exhaled in relief: it had worked. She collapsed against the wall, head rolling back to relax her beating heart. That was close.

She had plenty of time to herself; the process was very lengthy and something this severe would require several stimpacks over the course of hours. But Cait should be fine. Dogmeat scuttled over to Allison, tongue lolling happily, muzzle drenched in scarlet, and she grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him close.

“How you doin’ buddy? Any injuries?” she asked as she frisked a hyper Dogmeat who thought his master wanted to tussle. She swept a hand through his furry flank, miraculously finding nothing, and scratched the area underneath his fuzzy chin. For this, she received a zealous kiss to her cheek that painted the exposed area in equal parts blood and drool. “Ah, ew. Dude, not cool.”

Dogmeat didn’t worry himself, though, and after circling in that way overly-energetic dogs do, he flopped with his snout laying on her thigh, and promptly shut his eyes to catch some Zs. Allison’s splayed, bloody fingers scoured through the hair of his neck, great clods of the stuff pooling into dust bunnies on the grimy floor. She looked to Cait, and realized her bosom still bared itself to the world, but her attention was on the steady rising and falling of her chest. A good fifteen minutes passed before she concluded that another stimpack was necessary, so she crawled on all fours to inject more medicine into the tranquil, fiery redhead. Allison removed the gauze- she couldn’t have the material trapped in Cait’s body when the wound closed- and used another stimpack. More time passed, and another stimpack was applied. This time, she did what she could to cover Cait’s bust, but she stirred before she could Jerry-rig anything and she preferred not to seem a creep fumbling with an unconscious woman’s bare chest.

Cait groaned, rubbing tired eyes and struggling to prop herself against the opposite booth across the aisle. “The bloody Hell…” she moaned, then realized something. Her hands darted to her corset that drifted open with the breeze, and her head shot upwards with an all-too-suspicious glare.

Allison snorted in disbelief at the implication, not bothering to lift her head from where it lazed against the wall. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t do anything to you,” but Cait’s lip sneered.

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” she countered.

“Oh, for fuck’s- Trudy!” she pivoted her head to stare at the older lady watching the clearing from behind the counter. When she shifted her head over to stare questioningly at the trio, Allison gestured to a defensive Cait, “I didn’t do anything to her while she was knocked out, did I?”

“I dunno,” Trudy drawled. “I wasn’t watchin’.”

“Not watch-? Fine. Patrick!” she called.

The young adult in question jumped to the moon and back at his name, and he skittishly queried, “Y-yes, ma’am?”

“I didn’t do anything… weird to the lass, did I?”

“N-no, ma’am, just cleaned her wounds, that’s all ma’am.”

Allison turned back around. “See?”

Cait relaxed, but drew her knees into her torso, arms encasing her kneecaps. They sat silently for a bit. All the while, Cait fixed Allison with an intense stare, regarding her with distrust and… something else. A lot of something else. Confusion. Bewilderment. Wariness. Intellectual analysis. More of that something else. Allison suddenly remembered that her mask scattered itself somewhere near the door, and that her face was completely exposed. She gulped. As far as she knew, Cait had never seen anything outside of her jaw and a few strands of her red locks. She’d never seen Allison’s eyes, and she became very conscious of every detail of her expression.

Allison remembered her basic first aid training. “You want some water? Stimpacks tend to dry out your throat.”

Cait said nothing, so Allison unlatched her canteen, but frowned when only a few drops tumbled from the lip.

“Trudy, can I get a couple cans of water?”

Trudy looked to argue, but then she seemed to remember who just saved their sorry asses and tossed a couple white canisters to the inquirer. Allison rolled one over to Cait, where the gift bounced off of Cait’s still toe. A moment later, without breaking eye contact, she reached down and picked up the canister, then pulled the tab to punch in the top and greedily glugged most of the canister.

Allison put the bottle to her lips after ensuring that Cait drank her fill, and after a few gulps she poured some of it into a hubcap nearby. Dogmeat’s tongue clouded the water with blood, crimson swirling with every lap of his tongue, and that reminded her to use the rest of the can to wash the crustiness from her hands and her face.

“You alright?” Allison asked.

Cait just stared.

“Okay. Whatever.”

Cait still stared as Allison rose from the ground and clomped over to the counter to barter with Trudy for supplies. After arguing with the frustratingly stubborn mother, Allison walked away with jerky, canned soup, purified water, a refilled canteen, replacement clothes for both of them, ammo, and less caps than she would have liked. Cait joined her and Dogmeat just outside of the rundown establishment in a red tank top and a new backpack, as the old was smeared with blood.

“Ready to head out? I want to get there by nightfall,” Allison questioned, her cap perched upon her head, bandana undulating with every breath, and glasses reflecting the sun low in the sky.

But Cat just stared.

Allison sighed. “Alright, play the quiet game then.”

At least she wasn’t griping about anything.

 

**ooooo**

 

The wasteland was sinister at night. There was no noise, no crickets chirping, no scuffle of nocturnal animals, no trickle of any nearby streams. Other than the cold, cold wind whose howl sounded ghastly, like a distraught banshee who lost her lover to whatever owned those eyes that peeked here and there. Something, or rather somethings, watched over the two huddled around a campfire whose crackling flames cast dancing shadows across the open plain, the creatures’ glimmering eyes flashing for the briefest of intervals. Whatever they were, they never made their move, content to simply unnerve the trio with their presences. The moon shone brightly, somberly, gazing down at the human race with pity. The stars twinkled in agreement, but there was nothing they could do to help. So they watched.

Allison leaned against the only tree visible for miles, half her face visible in the firelight that snapped and popped and spat sparks onto the ground. She’d called first guard, but her turn ran out hours ago. And yet, she still seemed alert, Dogmeat curled next to her with his nose tucked into his tail.

Cait witnessed all of this from her prone position in her sleeping bag through cracked eyelids that faked sleep. The pads of her fingers traced the points where bullets had entered her body, pressing and rubbing little circles around where the wounds once were. There were no scars, no blemishes or even a mild discoloring where she’d been shot, just smooth skin. Stimpacks were weird.

What was weirder was the effort Allison had expended to save her life. She’d braved a hail of enemy bullets to drag her half-dead body into cover. Allison had risked her own life to save Cait, an obnoxious brat who’d done nothing of the same caliber for her companion. In fact, Cait hadn’t contributed much of anything, other than persisting headaches, to the wellbeing of Allison, and definitely not anything that warranted running through a wall of death. Allison could’ve simply stabbed her with a stimpack and leave it at that, but she hadn’t. She’d ensured that she did the job right, digging through her innards with her bare hands to pull little pieces of shrapnel from the gaping wound. That was by far the most anyone had ever done to help Cait, and that got Cait thinking hard.

She was worried. She was very worried.

She needed to say something, so she pretended to wake from a deep slumber, yawning and stretching as she hoisted herself onto her tush. She wiped her crusty eyes, cracking her neck, and gazed into the flames, the warmth heating her eyeballs.

“Hey, ya got time ta talk?” she asked, Allison twisting her head.

“Something wrong?”

“No. Er, yes- I don’t know,” Cait admitted.

Allison didn’t react, other than, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Cait nodded. “When I got stuck with ya, I expected ta hate yer guts. Not just because ya picked up me contract, but… well, our first encounter wasn’t exactly the friendliest it could’ve been.”

“I think I smacked you in the face, if I recall correctly.”

“I expected ya to boss me around and force me ta do yer biddin’, but ya haven’t.” Cait inhaled. “Now, so far, you’ve been treatin’ me well, dare I say almost like a friend. You’ve paid the food and board and ya haven’t asked fer a single cap in return. Back there, at the diner, ya… saved me life and risked yer own. Ya haven’t asked fer anythin’ in return fer that either.”

Allison acknowledged with a bow of her head, but otherwise stayed silent.

“Now, I don’t mean ta sound ungrateful, but yer kindness is worrin’ me. If there was anythin’ I’ve learned about people these past years, it’s that everyone’s expectin’ a return on their investment, if ya catch me drift.”

Allison nodded, and looked down at the flames. There was a long silence.

“Would you believe me if I said I enjoyed your company?”

Cait snorted. “Hell no.”

“Good.”

More silence.

“What would I be expecting, Cait?” Allison queried, face turning to stare at Cait’s. It was pretty face. But it was a face that had seen too much.

“Fock if I know! Doin’ yer laundry, takin’ a bullet fer ya, haulin’ yer junk around. What’s the difference?”

A short pause.

“I don’t trust anyone else to do my laundry other than myself. You’ve taken plenty of bullets already. And you straight up refuse to carry any of my ‘junk’ around.”

Cait let loose an exasperated sigh at Allison’s literal take on her words. “No, dammit, that’s not what I mean! Look, I spent three years in the Combat Zone. Place smelled of piss and puke but it was home, and to top it off I got three hot meals every day. But ya know what else was there? Raiders. And you know they’re not what you’d call ‘the gentle type’.”

Allison actually chuckled here, an action that served to dumbfound Cait.

“No. I don’t suppose they are.”

Cait shifted at the unpleasant memories that rushed to fill her clouded mind. “Got ta the point where I had ta look over me shoulder every five seconds ta keep from bein’ mugged, beaten, or worse. Didn’t take me long to realize I had to put me hard earned caps at work: buyin’ friends became essential to makin’ life easy. So I guess I’m just waitin’ fer ya ta hand me the bill, ya know what I’m sayin’?”

“I guess. But I’m not a raider Cait.”

Cait frowned. “I know. Ya still missin’ the point? I just explained it clear as day, can’t get any better than that.”

Allison rolled her neck uncomfortably, as if coming to terms with something. She exhaled, gazed at the sky, then gazed at Cait. “You got any whiskey in your pack?”

Cait eyed her suspiciously. “No, but I got beer.”

At that Allison salvaged a flask with an unidentifiable decal from the enormous backpack, unscrewed the cap, and went bottoms up. She guzzled an impressive amount, and when her head returned her eyes didn’t water even slightly. She held the container in her hands and stared at the fire.

“I’m a vault dweller,” she admitted suddenly.

“Yeah, and I’m a mirelurk queen,” Cait snorted.

“I could believe that.” Another swig and she muttered, “You’re certainly crabby enough.”

Cait huffed indignantly at that, but her mind perused the possibility that Allison was a vault dweller. Or rather, the impossibility of the notion. Every vault dweller she knew was a small spoiled coward who endlessly complained about the harsh conditions of the apocalypse, pudgy from hoarding clean, unmutated food and soft from living in such a safe, easy environment. They were not tall, built machines who killed with as much remorse as one would have for biting into a crisp mutfruit. They weren’t weathered, experienced warriors who battled unaffected by fear and indecisiveness. And they certainly didn’t know how to fight like Allison did. In fact, _no one_ knew how to fight like Allison did.

And then there was the freeze-up right before they arrived. Just outside a cozy looking neighborhood, Allison had halted on the spot. Her unresponsiveness for a disturbingly long time had thrown Cait for a loop, as she’d never witnessed such a display of abject fear, but eventually her companion had pivoted on one heel and nearly sprinted from the area, only stopping when they’d found this little tree. Perhaps that was her old home? Cait could understand the hesitation of returning to the homestead better than most anyone.

Cait gave Allison the benefit of the doubt. “What vault are ya from, then?”

She stole another swig. “One hundred and eleven,” she drawled.

“Hm. Never heard of it.”

“And no one ever will.”

Cait’s brow scrunched. “And that’s because…?”

She tapped her chest. “I’m the sole survivor.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. ‘Oh’.”

Silence.

Cait almost conked herself in her own noggin when she asked, “Do ya have any family anywhere?”

Allison glowered menacingly, quickly snapping, “What part of ‘sole survivor’ do you not understand?” A disappointed expression seized Allison as she chugged the final dregs. Damn, the lass could drink.

“Sorry.” It was genuine, and that surprised them both.

“That’s… That’s okay,” Allison conceded.

Cait wasn’t expecting her to continue.

“Anyway, my point is that I’m not some hired merc who expects to be paid every time I stick my leg out for you. Now tell me something: I’ve lost everything Cait. I’ve lost my husband. I’ve lost my son.” Her voice cracked minimally. “I’ve lost my lifestyle. I’ve lost my home. And _you_ are the only person who doesn’t shoot me on sight or shove a gun in my face whenever I want to talk to you. Yeah, you’re kind of a cunt, but you’re the only person I have left.”

“So tell me Cait: why would I ever sever one of the last decent things I have connecting me to this earth?”

Silence while they both contemplated the words that had been spilled. Cait meant something to someone. That was a first. That was a very big first. Did this mean she had a… friend? Someone to count on in tough times? She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, but the news stoked a fire in her chest.

There was reason now to keep moving forward. She held an objective now. She _was_ an objective now.

“I’m gonna get some sleep. Wake me if anything happens. Goodnight.”

Cait didn’t reply.

And just like that, soft snoring emanated from the motionless figure whose scarlet tresses cascaded in a waterfall across her pillow. Cait stared at the dozing woman, noticing the skin so soft when compared to hers. Her features were more rounded, her complexion mostly clear save a few scattered freckles. As Cait gazed upon the attractive face she’d only just seen that afternoon and recognized the signature, plump sponginess encasing her cheekbones and the wells of her eyes, she was convinced in that moment that something this perfect could only have lived in an environment where something perfect could be preserved.

“Goodnight, Allison.”

But her friend was already fast asleep.


	4. Nate's Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thanks for the support and whatnot from all of you who've read this far!

Kellogg. So that was his name.

Allison no longer stared at the man relaying what were likely details vital to her success, but instead glared straight through him. For the longest time, the mercenary with the mechanical arm had no name for her to scream in frustration when rage consumed her, but now the object of her unbridled hatred possessed a name: Conrad Kellogg. It was an average name to the average commoner, but to the masked woman, whose nails bruised the calloused flesh of her palms as they clamped and scraped and broiled in fury even through the thick leather gloves, the name was her Lucifer. She’d already decided with the first unsteady steps from her sarcophagus that he would die; all that was required now was to find him.

“Hey, ya with me?”

The voice, old, male, and deep with hints of a Bostonian lilt, reached her with its near-imperceptible undertones of actual, genuine worry for her wellbeing; if the man hadn’t lived for as long as he had, she’d regard his hospitality a blaring weakness.

Her vision refocused onto the man in front of her. An ancient trilby crumbled atop an ancient head level with hers even though Nick Valentine slouched casually in his oaken chair that obnoxiously complained like a withering, grouchy grandmother nearing the end of her years under his weight. Faded combat boots sporting holes in the soles were plopped one on top of the other on the metal desk separating the dick and the “damsel” in distress, his burly chest wrapped in a washed out trench coat. Pulled straight from one of those cheesy mystery films Nate used to hoard, the man’s attire matched that of a grizzled detective who’d seen too much. With one exception, of course- there was always an exception, a certain oddity that makes everything unique in it’s own right in a world where cattle brandished two snouts and other strange and unusual happenings were commonplace.

And this man was no different in his… possession of certain incomparable characteristics. For the “man” lounging with his legs propped on his desk and his posture reclined in his chair was a synth. A metallic skeleton of multicolored wires, rusted nuts, and chrome bolts was visible through the many tears of flabby, plastic “skin” that coated the framework. His face would resemble a real human face with startling accuracy, with sharp cheekbones, a nose that sniffed and snorted, and a brow that furrowed in deep thought and bounced in laughter, had his pupils not been two, piercing rings of neon yellow.

Those eyes regained contact with hers through her glasses, and when she didn’t respond in time, he repeated in his gravelly voice that sounded like every word was shoved through several filters of static, “Hello?” He leaned forward now, though his legs still lounged on top of his desk. “Listen, ma’am, I know what you’re going through. Really, I do! But if you can’t snap out of it and tell me what I need to know, I’m afraid the case has gone cold before it’s even had the chance to open.”

“I know,” she snapped irritably, putting forth no effort to quell her temper.

Despite her jab, his easy-going nature had yet to show minute signs of cracking. “Whoa. Cool it, hothead, I’m on your side. Now-,” he relaxed comfortably into his chair again, passive expression painting a colorless face, “-so far we’ve determined that this kidnapper of yours bears a resemblance to a certain ‘Conrad Kellogg’. Correct?” Allison continued to answer questions and Nick continued to ask them, much to the chagrin of her companions.

They’d only discovered the synth detective earlier that very day. While wandering aimlessly throughout the northern wastes of the Commonwealth several days ago, Allison’s Pipboy blasting some obnoxious song about bongos in the Congo, an interesting and wholly captivating tidbit was overheard from a group of talkative scavengers drinking in an outpost out east: Triggermen had captured a certain, famous- or infamous, depending on how you knew him- detective and had stashed him in an abandoned vault. That was all Allison needed; a swift return trip to the city and an extended, underground gunfight involving pre-war gangsters later, and she was staring through a porthole at the most peculiar man that now lazed before her.

Valentine’s office consisted of very little square footage, as did all houses in the Commonwealth’s largest settlement, though it did possess a second floor. Dark and dingy and lit by a single, flickering bulb and few waxy candles, filing cabinets that were filled to the brim with documents and folders lined the walls of cold, orange steel. Piles upon piles of papers and notepads and manila envelopes overflowed from every flat surface, and the smallest draft sent some of them cascading to the wooden floor every time someone passed by. Still, the space was cozy enough, and the scattered, scented candles managed to overpower the damp smell that usually pervaded huts like this one.

As Allison stoically sat in a foldable chair opposite Valentine, the soft padding of paws could was audible in between the snarky banter of the detective and the wanderer. Dogmeat roamed about, eager to catalogue each and every paper for himself, abruptly sneezing when he inhaled the choking dust of the older documents. Cait brooded against the wall behind Allison, her arms crossed moodily and one foot flat against the corrugated sheet of metal. Allison could feel her cross demeanor from here without turning to look at her. Something bothered her, and Allison thought she probably knew what it was.

“Well alright then. Ellie, ya catch that?” Valentine queried to his assistant.

Ellie Perkins, cheerful to simply be in the company of her mentor again but reluctant to let him loose, replied stressfully, “Yes. Now you be careful, Nick. We wouldn’t wanna lose you again, now would we?”

A smile, the first Allison had seen that wasn’t completely sardonic, crinkled the plastic of his face as he reassured, “Don’t you worry about me. I won’t be gone long.”

As everyone shuffled through the exit of the Valentine Detective Agency, Allison heard the muttered, frustrated, despairing breath that could only come from a desperate friend, or more likely lover: “You said that the last time you left.”

 

**ooooo**

 

A hand grasped her shoulder firmly just as Allison stepped from the cinderblock stairs to the muddied earth. The hand that pulled her aside belonged to Cait, and by the way her brow furrowed in vexation, Allison guessed the topic wouldn’t be pleasant. Nick noticed the commotion, gestured toward the especially crabby Cait, and made a show of sauntering a short distance before slipping a cigarette from a pack stashed in his coat and setting the tip ablaze. At least they had some sort of privacy.

Cait halted abruptly, whipping around to fix Allison with a glare that contained more than just blind fury. Dogmeat whimpered at her side, confused, and he pressed close to her left leg. Cait’s arms crossed again, and she leaned back on one leg as if expecting Allison to just say something. She didn’t, so Cait was forced to initiate a conversation herself.

“What the bloody Hell was that?” she demanded.

Allison, puzzled, asked, “What was what?”

Cait’s expression soured further. She leaned in, conscious enough of the sensitivity of the subject matter that she didn’t want to make too much of a scene. “Since when have ya had a kid?”

“Since forever. I’ve already told you this.”

“ _You_ said yer family was _dead_ ,” Cait retorted.

Allison sighed. “Yes, I believe I did.”

Confirmed in her suspicions, she retorted, “And I suppose yer hubby’s alive and well, also?”

“No. He’s dead.”

“Pfft,” Cait snorted disbelievingly.

Allison released the tension in her jaw by cracking her neck to the side, venting the swelling anger. “Cait, I really don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

Cait looked incredulous at her reply. “Oh, really?”

Allison threw up her hands. “I know fuck-all about you, Cait, other than that you’re an insufferable brute. Is it really that surprising that I’d lie about my family to a stranger?”

A mix of emotions crossed Cait. The first was a belligerent sense of betrayal, her mouth hinging open to seethe undoubtedly, her shoulders drawing straighter and taller, her irises spewing green, defiant lasers. Then realization of something shocked her still, her mouth still hanging agape but the fire in her emerald eyes dissipating entirely and surrendering to her personal train of thought. The finale settled on a quiet rumination, with Cait refusing to look at her head-on and the fighting spirit that locked her posture disappearing.

Allison’s eyebrow quirked at the display but she gave no comment on any of it.

“Cait?”

She looked up, lost and defensive, but said nothing.

Sensing that she would not pry anything from the unusually tame redhead, she simply nodded behind her and informed Cait, “I’m going to go find the man who took my son. Then, when I’ve killed him, I’m going to find my son. You can come with me if you want.”

Cait just looked at her with a stony gaze.

“Or not. Whatever. Just don’t get in my way,” Allison conceded with a sharp exhale through her nostrils. She turned here, and step by step approached the detective. The coating of his right hand had been ripped off in some previous skirmish, and now the appendage looked less like a hand and more like the legs of some aluminum spider that had nested in his sleeve. The embers of the cigarette clamped between his fingers shined brighter than anything nearby in the unlit, grey gloominess of the covered alleyway.

His head swiveled to her, but not his body, and the harsh yellow light of his irises washed over the woman and the dog coming to a stop and their surroundings, gold luminescence glimmering from reflections on pieces of metal that could still glimmer after two hundred years of radioactive air. It was day, but the dark labyrinth of huts and sheds lit by the scavenged neon signs of the city could be mistaken for late, late dusk.

“Your buddy not tagging along?” he asked.

But to both of their surprise, heavy footfalls followed the duo.

When Valentine and Allison turned, Cait sneered and demanded, “What?”

Neither responded. There was no trace of the indecisiveness that Allison had seen earlier. Allison looked to Valentine. Valentine looked to Allison.

Curiosity in his yellow eyes, Valentine asked, “Ready to get this merry band moving?”

Allison only nodded.

 

**ooooo**

 

They were here. _He_ was here. At the Fort Hagen military base.

They’d ransacked his house in the outer limits of the Diamond City, discovering a hidden armory at the press of a shiny, red button. A safe house of some sort, the place was decked out with high-tech, freshly constructed weapons, food untouched by time and the elements, and boxes upon boxes of San Francisco Sunlights. The man’s obvious smoking habit would be his undoing. Dogmeat proved an incredible tracker: a brief whiff of one of the cigars later and suddenly the furry pooch was practically brimming with excitement, eager beyond reasonable ends to find the goodies at the end of the trail. But then again, so was she.

Valentine had decided that this was the end of the adventure for him, explaining that Ellie would never forgive him if he disappeared for another few months. He’d headed home, opting to entertain the plight of more farmers whose wives had disappeared or to orphans wishing their parents’ murderers be brought to justice. Allison didn’t blame him as they’d tracked _him_ down; judging from the corpses he’d abandoned on his journey, Kellogg was not the average wastelander.

And then they’d arrived at their destination, the Fort Hagen military base whose security systems had annoyingly been rebooted. With the front door bolted and barricaded shut, and the windows consisting of a bullet resistant glass, the only option was to scour the area for an entrance unaccounted for by their target. They’d dropped into the base through a hatch in the roof, and as soon as boots hit the ground streams of blue, ionized energy erupted from the walls.

They’d made quick work of the synth reinforcements, and after a lengthy walk through devastated underground tunnels, they’d come to an uneasy rest at this open doorway. The cracked concrete crumbled under her feet as she stepped forward cautiously, companions close behind, the sparks that flitted from massive wires hanging from the destroyed ceiling like vines startling Dogmeat with every crackle and pop.

This was it. _He_ was there, in that room ahead. Some way through, the voice of a man tired yet tough and resilient blared loudly over the intercom surprised all of them with its volume. But for Allison, the surprise morphed into an absolute hatred as the man identified himself, as he confirmed that it was he who’d stolen her baby boy away from her, as Kellogg began _taunting_ her for her losses that he’d caused.

She entered the room.

The only light was that of the glowing floodlights on the other side of the steel mesh that was the wall on her left, and because of this she could discern nothing visually. She could see the room was elongated in front of her, the left and right walls stretching into the infinitesimal black so that the wall opposite her was invisible. The space was filled with office cubicles, grimy computer screens dead and lifeless with toppled chairs shoved into corners or beneath desks.

Nothing happened.

So she took a step forward.

The first row of lights on the other side switched on, exploding white onto the office space below. Then, the second row. Then the first. Three figures emerged from the cubicles. Three synths, all in varying states of decay, all whirring incessantly, all clutching laser weapons. They didn’t fire, true to Kellogg’s promise. They just stood there, motionless and creepy.

However, her attention wasn’t fixed on them. She was staring at the man in the center of the room, whose hands were raised, but one clutched a revolver, inconsistent to the image of an apparent surrender. Allison knew that revolver. Allison knew the sound that echoed from its chamber as it fired, knew the suspenseful click of the hammer as it cocked back. She almost shot him on sight, but she remembered that he knew where Shaun was, and so she didn’t end him right then. Her finger didn’t leave the trigger, though, clenching and flexing and begging to retract.

He was saying something in that deep voice of his that she loathed.

“And there she is. The most resilient woman in the Commonwealth.”

Her steps were measured, soft even, but the explosions of her heart compensated for her quietness. And her eyes would’ve killed him if they could. Her mask was squished in her backpack, which had been deposited in the room before this one. Armed with only her pistol and her shotgun- that would suffice, she’d reasoned- she’d sent Cait on some fool’s errand to snag some supplies from where they’d already traveled through so she could shoot up in peace.

Jet to steady her hand, and make her bullets fly true.

Buffout to ensure his face would cave if she punched it.

Mentats so she could see the crimson ribbons of blood that would erupt from his forehead in vivid detail.

Med-X so she would feel no physical agony.

Psycho so she wouldn’t forget the pain he’d burdened her with.

And now, here she stood only feet away from the man whose existence she loathed. He was of standard height, impressively built as expected, and almost totally bald. A black, leather jacket wrapped around his torso, and angular, blocky armor sheathed his left arm. She fidgeted intensely, pumped and ready to rock, but the man insisted on small talk. She assumed he was buying time, but Allison could wait no longer.

“Where is Shaun?” she snarled, quiet yet threatening.

“Right to it then, huh?” He sighed heavily, as if this were all a mild inconvenience. “Okay, fine.”

And then, the motherfucker tried to launch into a monologue. “Your son, Shaun. Great kid. A little older-.”

“I know this,” she seethed. “What I don’t know is where Shaun is, so I’ll say it again: Where. Is. Shaun.”

The tension was so thick and present, it could stop bullets, but it wouldn’t stop hers. Nothing would stop hers.

His lip raised, annoyed at being interrupted. “Your boy’s not here,” he stated flatly.

The crushing disappointment that seized her chest almost brought her to her knees. She knew the chances of discovering Shaun with his kidnapper after all these years was highly unlikely, but logic had fled her mind quite some time ago. Still, she trekked on. If she couldn’t find Shaun, then she would avenge her baby boy. She could at least do that much for the little bundle of joy she futilely longed to caress again.

“Then where is he?” she whispered.

He assumed that cocky stance again, and his lips opened to deliver what was no doubt another monologue and she interrupted that before it could begin.

“Tell me where he is, damn it!” she barked.

“Fine. I guess you’ve earned that much,” he conceded. “Shaun’s in a good place. Where he’s safe and comfortable and loved. A place he calls home.”

A dramatic pause.

“The Institute.”

There was a defeated, unbelieving sigh from behind her. Cait acknowledged with more empathy in this one moment than Allison had heard in all of her time with the fiery redhead, “Aw, dammit.”

But Allison remained unfazed by the news. Perhaps it was because she’d not grown up with the threat of the Institute hanging precariously over her head, so truly comprehending the crushing gravity of this revelation was impossible for her. Perhaps it was because her mind was too clouded with rage to fully understand the meaning of his words. Or perhaps it was that she didn’t simply didn’t care. Whatever the reason, she loomed unharmed by the truth.

“Here. The Institute. I don’t care. I’m going to get him back.”

“God, you’re persistent. But then, you’re acting like a mother should act. The way-.”

“ _Will you shut the fuck up_.” she strained through gritted teeth.

“Gladly.”

No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke. Wind eerily howled through the corridors, displacing papers and rubble on the floor. A cockroach hobbled between the two facing off. Dogmeat snorted, and growled. Cait shift on her feet, shotgun in hand.

“You ready?” Kellogg had the nerve to ask, though he seemed serious. The nobility of his action ricocheted off of the woman of steel in front of him.

“Of course I am, _Kellogg_.”

Allison raised the weapon with both hands.

Kellogg vanished.

Allison fired anyway, scarlet liquid spurting from nowhere and splattering the carpet floor. Kellogg simply grunted, and a thud to her right indicated that he’d either fallen to the floor, or he’d ducked for cover. Seeing as she could barely see him, she followed suit and ducked behind the opposite side of the same cubicle.

A deafening blast, and she turned to witness Cait gun down one of the synths, its head erupting into silvery chrome splinters. The synth’s body froze and spasmed, falling flat on its back.

A menacing snarl to her right, and when she turned her attention to him, she saw a frustrated metal skeleton fighting for control of its own arm. He was relatively close, so she raised the weapon’s sights to her eyes, lined the front bead, and fired twice. The first pierced through his ribcage, staggering the monster and pausing its wild flailing long enough so that she could send a second sailing into his scalp. It stumbled before it collapsed in an awkward heap.

She hadn’t realized her mistake until it was too late: the pistol was peeking out from the wall she cowered behind, and a shimmering, transparent foot smashed squarely into the palm of her hand. The weapon tumbled far out of reach and the transparent figure rounded the corner almost fully. Kneeling on the ground, she looked up, and caught a glance of a translucent barrel pointed downward toward her forehead.

Instinctively, she slapped it away, and just as the barrel exited her silhouette, it went off.

Holy _Hell_ that was loud. Even though it detonated right next to her left ear, she could tell this revolver wasn’t an ordinary revolver. She could hear nothing but ringing, but she knew if she let herself be stunned she would be done for.

She raised, surprising the invisible Kellogg, and rammed into his abdomen. Her arms wrapped him in a vice grip just below the glutes and she shoved him backward, sprinting as fast as she could. They, or rather Kellogg, slammed into one of the cubicles, his bald head creating a spider web of cracks as it smacked against the black computer screen.

Allison released him, instantly grappling for his weapon while he struggled to maintain his hold on it. She was faster, but he was stronger and, unfortunately, still invisible so her speed was null until the effects wore off. Kellogg released a single hand from the tussle so he could smash the side of her head with an extremely effective left hook once, twice.

Her head swimming and nearly deaf, she released the gun and ducked under an attempted third she knew was coming. She swung wildly with her right fist, and a knuckle satisfyingly collided into Kellogg’s temple. She could discern from his slumped, translucent outline that he hadn’t expected it, and she finally managed a solid grasp on his beefy wrist.

She brought the arm up, twisted around so her back was to his chest, and pulled down with all of the force she could muster. His elbow cracked and broke over her shoulder, bending the wrong way and he yelped. Her fingers wrestled around beneath his weakened grasp, and then finally she yanked the revolver from his hand.

She twisted to finish him off- and spun directly into a charged left hook. She felt the searing agony of her nose crushing beneath his fist, and even when the contact between his knuckles and her face ceased, the torment raged on. She spun a half-rotation involuntarily, legs, arms, and feet refusing to cooperate as she stumbled forward over her feet.

_Shing!_

She recognized that sound.

Kellogg’s active camouflage had dissipated. They were on the same playing field, now.

Allison pivoted as fast as she could. Kellogg was quickly closing the distance, his broken arm dangling limp but appearing to not affect him in the slightest. There was no time to properly aim, or even potshot him for that matter. What she did have was two functioning arms, a gun, and a fury broiling her veins so vehemently that the broken nose could be easily ignored. Instead of retreating, Allison stepped inward, the action catching Kellogg off guard. He threw a fast jab with his good arm, and she easily swatted it away.

One last step forward until she was physically touching him. The muzzle of his own gun was shoved harshly into the underside of his mandible and stayed there. The gun didn’t fire immediately, absorbing all of his momentum as he screeched to a halt, allowing Kellogg just enough time to regain his balance and his bearings, and just enough time to stare into Allison’s unforgiving, hateful glare.

Once again, no one moved. All synths were piles of scrap, and Cait stood pensively on the sidelines, Dogmeat just one pace ahead of her.

There was no sound. All was completely silent.

Kellogg understood the message relayed to him in toxic irises as his undamaged hand hovered just under the gun. It was a challenge: one last chance to grab for the gun and save himself. She wouldn’t fire until he moved.

A flash of movement. Kellogg chanced it.

And failed.

His fingers hadn’t even reached the grip of his own gun before Allison reacted.

A pull of the trigger. The hammer, already cocked, released and slammed into the primer, which ignited the gunpowder, which propelled the bullet the few inches up the barrel until it passed through his jaw, his tongue, the roof of his mouth, his mind, and finally the top his skull. A deafening blast, a quick flash of yellow light, and the top of Conrad Kellogg’s head exploded into a gory, chunky, red mist. Pieces of brain and bone rained in a morbid shower around them, and seconds after his eyes glazed over a steady river of blood pumped from the gaping wound.

The revolver definitely was not normal, or at least the ammunition it fired wasn’t, seeing as the entire rear half of Kellogg’s head sprayed against the ceiling, the cubicles, and the floor.

A brief period of nothing.

Then Kellogg crumpled to the floor.

Allison was breathing hard, but it wasn’t because of her broken nose. This was where euphoria set in, right? Where satisfaction would fill the emptiness? When she would be compensated for all the effort put into loathing Conrad Kellogg, into loathing the world?

Then why wasn’t it coming?

If anything, sorrow only cleaved deeper into her chest, into her tear ducts until they bled tears, into her throat that constricted so tightly, into her mind already so troubled with loss.

So she fired again, convinced that she simply hadn’t dealt enough trauma to experience satisfaction. Once more into his head, and what was left of his face splattered into a million other pieces. But still, nothing continued to fill the nothingness.

So she fired again.

More gore splattered. More nothing.

So she fired again.

More red pastels coated the floor, the walls, and her boots. More nothing filled her chest, her arms, her legs.

So she fired again.

The floor was bathed in crimson. Allison was filled to the brim, all the way up to the top of her head, with nothing, nothing, more fucking nothing.

So she fired again. But all that exited the gun was the horrible click that signaled that she was out of bullets, out of patience.

Fed up with being fucked out of absolutely everything she could be fucked out of, she threw the gun at him, hoping vainly that the body would somehow explode into a juice eruption of blood.

It didn’t. Nothing happened. No wonderful bursting into a hurricane of macabre chunks like a piñata would burst into candy. Absolutely _fucking_ nothing.

And that one last failure, however impossible it was, however silly it was, however downright _stupid_ it was, sent her over the edge.

Quaking, confused, and screaming she stomped the man’s body into oblivion, foot leaving red prints in his clothes as bones cracked and organs sloshed inside the fleshy exterior. Over and over she stomped on his remains, but the nothingness only consumed more and more of her, spilling through her eyes and her screams. The nothing was all she knew; she was drowning in the nothing, her lungs overflowing with breathless, heavy despair, her heart thumping with painful sorrow, her throat crushing as ribbons of nothing wound tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter, and oh how she _wished_ those ribbons would keep squeezing until her throat collapsed and she would be free of this, this… this nothing, this absence of everything.

A pair of strong, smaller arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards, away from her punching bag. Allison’s initial reaction was to kick and scream louder, but she recognized the voice that rang oddly soothing against the ear she could hear with. The voice with a distinct Irish accent softly lulled her fighting spirit, but with that gone the nothingness could fully envelope her.

And then, she went limp, all energy seeping out through her tears that flowed constantly as ugly sobs racked her throat and left her feeling like such a pathetic piece of shit. The embrace disappeared, and without its grounding force, she was vulnerable to whatever her mind decided to subject her to.

A hot, wet tongue lapped at her forehead, and a whine rumbled from Dogmeat as he attempted to simultaneously diagnose and cure his master of her affliction, to burden himself with some of the nothingness that she drowned in she that Allison wouldn’t have to. His nose nuzzled her hair as he buried his muzzle in her red tresses and flopped onto his belly.

Someone grasped her arm and tried to turn her over.

“Hey! Alli!”

Cait tried and tried to calm the woman, but she was shocked; Allison rarely showed any emotion besides her usual grumpy demeanor, and yet here she was. Bawling pitifully on the floor of some pre-war facility, baring everything to everyone. She tried her best to comfort the woman with kind-ish words and a half-assed attempt at an awkward hug, but she had no experience with something like… well, like _this_.

“Alli! Come on, don’t do that!”

And just like that she stilled.

Crystal clear tears carved a clean path down dirty, bloody cheeks, creating thin carpets of skin that looked so fragile at the moment. Scarlet pocked her face and her coat, little pieces of brain plastered to her face pulled into an expression of absolute nothing. The eyes didn’t blink, the rings of green staring up at the ceiling, lifeless, dull, and devoid of everything.

Then her lips pulled downward, the dimples appearing as her chapped lips trembled, quavered, but didn’t break. The eyes squinted, but the dam never raised the flood-gates. Air sniffled periodically from the nose smooshed and contorted in ways it shouldn’t be.

Cait couldn’t hold a repulsed expression from seizing her face: this was a bad break. She needed a stimpack now, lest her nose permanently look like disgusting knob of flesh and cartilage. Cait stilled Allison completely, hands hovering hesitantly over her face.

“Alright, I need ya ta stay still, ya hear me?” she requested.

Nothing.

So Cait’s hands descended to gingerly place each palm on different sides of Allison’s nose. Cait was an expert with this kind of thing. She wasn’t bad at setting broken arms or legs either, but she’d set her own nose so many times she could do it with a blindfold.

“I don’t think I need ta say this, but this is gonna hurt.” She applied a little pressure. “A lot.”

Without warning, Cait jerked and twisted the cartilage violently, swiftly, but accurately. Her “patient” didn’t flinch, didn’t outwardly show signs of pain. Allison sported two black eyes, purplish bruises shifting and darkening as the nose returned to its proper shape. Cait looked to her back to retrieve a stimpack, but remembered with no small amount of annoyance that she’d deposited her backpack with Allison’s. Regretfully, she hoisted herself to her feet, the urge to simply stay and comfort lingering startlingly strong in Cait’s chest.

“I’ll be right back.”

She almost sprinted into the next room, surveying before her scrutinizing gaze accusingly glared at her pack. She rushed to the sack, rummaging through needles and bottles and shells before her fingers grazed her target. Cait squeezed the medical instrument tightly, standing and trotting back through the doorway.

Allison had not followed orders.

Now, she kneeled noiselessly over the mutilated body, Dogmeat sitting beside her with his muzzle resting on her inclined thigh. He growled with a worried tone, and his ears flitted as Cait approached from behind. She fiddled with the cap, unsure how to proceed before she kicked herself mentally. This was not like her, to be so indecisive and irresolute, but she couldn’t help it. Her only friend was hurting bad, and she had no idea the rules of _this_ game.

Cait kneeled behind Allison, gently brushing away the thick coat with her fingers. She steadied her companion, her splayed digits spreading the flesh, then gradually plunged the needle into her neck. She held it there as the contents were injected into Allison’s arm, and still she didn’t react. She discarded the empty syringe to parts unknown, and scuffled around to Allison’s side that wasn’t occupied by the furry mutt who’d seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber.

Cait analyzed Allison’s face from the very edge of her peripheral. She found only a twinge of grief. The rest was just… nothing.

Without thought, Cait extended her hand to place her palm lightly against Allison’s thigh. She only realized what she’d done once it was too late; if she retracted questions would rightfully be raised but if she allowed her hand to rest where it was, questions might still be raised. There was no reaction at first.

But then her heart glitched as Allison’s fingers slowly intertwined within hers. Goosebumps infected every inch of her skin as Allison’s thumb grazed the knuckle of her pinky in lazy circles. Cait’s inner dialogue delved into a shouting match. A piece of her, a piece she’d never had the displeasure of meeting, whispered for her to return the ministrations, but the stronger piece of her forced her head to stare at the corpse at her knees in a stunned silence.

Allison’s voice reached her over the rapid, ear-splitting beating of her heart with it’s tone of sadness and nothing. It was more of a whisper than anything else, hopeless.

“I just want my son back.”

Cait had no words. She did, however, turn to gaze at the vulnerable woman beside, very conscious that her thumb hadn’t halted its horrifying, delicious rubbing.

Allison’s voice cracked, if only slightly. “I just want my Goddamn son back.”

Here, Allison turned her despairing gaze to meet Cait’s,

“Why can’t I have my son back?”

It seemed like a real question, as if Cait could possibly know why the universe worked the way it worked. She gave no answer.

A depressed half-chuckle, half-sob shuddered her body. “Yeah. I don’t know why either.”

There was silence for a few seconds while they contemplated.

“I just…” Allison stuttered, lost, confused, frustrated. “I just don’t understand. I don’t know why I get denied at every turn. All I want is my son. That’s pretty reasonable, isn’t it?” It was only after the second, more desperate, “Isn’t it?” that Cait realized she expected an answer again.

Cait nodded, but couldn’t conjure the words to her irritation.

“I don’t even know if it’s worth going on. I mean, I know I’d be giving up on- on Shaun, but, but-.”

She tightened her grip on Cait’s hand, and Cait became very grateful that Allison couldn’t see the bright red flush that assaulted her pale cheeks.

A sigh, a deep, shuddering sigh that threatened to break into wailing. “The fucking _Institute?_ Why would _they_ take him? Why was it them that had to take him? I mean,” her head shook sided to side, “Fucking, anyone else and I wouldn’t bat an eye, but the _Institute?_ ”

On a whim, Cait’s thumb cautiously trailed back and forth over Allison’s lap, and the efforts were not wasted. Allison calmed instantly, stealing a moment to clear her mind.

“I just don’t want to get there and find out the princess is in another fucking castle. I don’t think I could take that again.” She sniffled. “I couldn’t take that again.”

Allison snapped out of her moping trance, wiping the tears from her eyes and, much to Cait’s disappointment, releasing Cait’s hand. She stood with great difficulty, displacing a whining Dogmeat from her lap.

“Ah, sorry,” she apologized, glancing around the room. “We should go, shouldn’t we…? Yeah, we should go.”

She started to move, but as she began ambling to the door she kicked something. Red and covered in innards, the thing possessed no logical right to shimmer and skitter as loud as it did, but it still created a racket. Allison leaned down, brow furrowed as she lifted the thing from the ground and inspected it closely.

“What is _that?_ ” Cait recoiled as she drew closer.

It clicked in Allison’s mind. “It’s a cybernetic augmentation.”

“A what?”

“It’s supposed to be in a robot. But it’s not. It gives him superpowers, I suppose you could say,”

“Oh.”

Allison’s eyes thoroughly raked over the subject, and she returned to inspect the body, crouching and grabbing the rim of his cranium. Cait bent over her shoulder to sneak a peek at the goods. Lining the man’s skull and protruding from soupy remains was a net of chrome wiring, batteries, and computer chips.

“Jesus,” Allison uttered in disbelief. “You were barely human.”

She stood, letting his empty skull clatter to the ground, and huffed. “But we already knew that, didn’t we?”

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison had yet to speak a single word to Cait. As they clambered over collapsed support beams, ducked under thick, severed wires that spat sparks, and trudged up too many flights of stairs, there was total silence between the trio. Normally, they would scavenge the building for useful items, and this being a military base there was sure to be at least a decent weapon or two buried under crumbled concrete. But they didn’t; Allison’s hurried strides left no time to dawdle about and search for ammunition, but Cait didn’t mind. Allison’s mask had been hastily reapplied, and Cait found herself wishing that her companion had decided to forgo the mask that covered such a pretty face. She didn’t comment, though. Now wasn’t the time.

After a short examination of the area and a quick glance at Allison’s Pipboy, the trailer park to the east appeared to be a suitable spot to make camp, though the sun had yet to dip below the horizon. They were there now, locked inside a mobile home, huddled closely around a fire.

The sun was gone, lost to the clutches of the night, and now the crecent shone in all of its ethereal glory. Moonlight bathed the park as Cait gazed out a broken window, mulling over the events of the past couple days. Sitting on her haunches with her forearms wrapped around her knees, her neck craned to witness the swaying, whispering stalks of overgrown weeds that sprouted through numerous cracks in the asphalt. Shattered glass sparkled near trailers grimy with fallout and blighted by rust. Through broken sheets of chain-link, she spied the Commonwealth beyond it, noticing the crusty fur coat of dead trees in the distance that blanketed the hills and shielded the bottoms of skyscrapers from view. Birds cawed and croaked in the distance, the occasional lone raven swimming across the starry sky. There was gunfire as well, little flashes of light and sharp cracks scattered among various hills, but there was always gunfire in the Commonwealth. Besides, the proximity between them and the dispersed disputes was large enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about any invasions of their peace and (relative) quiet.

Cait wondered how far they’d traveled. She’d pick a certain location, a grassy knoll or the tip of a skyscraper, or maybe an area obscured by the trees, and then she’d wonder whether or not their journeyed feet had crossed over those paths before. They’d traveled far and wide together. They’d killed a lot together. And yet, they were still strangers to each other.

But that confused Cait. She shouldn’t be bothered at all from keeping their lives secret; as far as she saw it, it was the only way to stay truly independent. And safe. Yet, she remained perturbed by it. She found herself frustrated that she didn’t know anything about the woman sitting cross-legged across the fire, chowing down on a crispy squirrel impaled on a stick.

What concerned her most was her own attitude around Allison. Nothing had really changed between them during the down time between the events of the bunker and now, but she felt like it. Her hand splayed, contracted, then splayed again involuntarily as she recalled the feeling of Allison’s hand in hers, of the warmth of her thigh and the warmth of her fingers, of the tenderness Allison had displayed in that solitary incident.

She huffed. What was she, twelve? That seemed about the age that little girls would obsess over something as insignificant as hand-holding. And she’d never really been twelve. Sure, her body had obviously aged twelve years, but she’d never been afforded the frame of mind, or the time, to properly enjoy her childhood. It was something she prided herself on, how fast she’d grown up to defeat the abysmal odds of survival.

Still…

Allison _had_ reciprocated, and unintentionally planted seeds of something Cait had denied would ever exist in her in her mind, and in her heart.

Cait’s gaze averted from the stark wasteland to wash around the camper they made their bed in. The camper was of average size, and the metal, insulated walls were once green, but most of the paint had peeled off in slender flakes, and all of which was faded. Near the rear, there was a busted, mahogany bed frame, the center caved in and two of the legs splintered and broken. The mattress had disappeared, but they each carried bedrolls so that wasn’t an issue. The floor was once carpeted, but now only threads tangled to bolts remained. One of the lightbulbs were smashed, but one of them had been in working condition, so Allison had smashed the glass to retrieve the filament and the copper, screw-in bottom. There was a small table near the sliding door, and on it was propped Allison’s rifle, cans of yam and soup, and a ceramic vase cradling a withered rose. In the center of the camper roared a fire, and strung above the crackling, popping flames suspended by two sticks was a make-shift spit roast. On the other side sat Allison who was calmly, meditatively chowing down on a rodent speared by a long, sharp twig. Beside her, Dogmeat’s coat glistened magnificently in the firelight as he gnawed contentedly at an unidentifiable hunk of roasted meat. Cait sat with her back pressed against the wall, an empty can of ravioli loitering next to her leg.

Cait studied Allison closely. She still didn’t know why she covered her face so. There was no way it was because Allison was concerned with her looks; not only did she not strike Cait as the shallow type, but Allison sported a very attractive face. Usually, the ones who hide their faces have something to fear, but Cait couldn’t determine what exactly her companion would fear. Then again, Cait knew next to nothing about Allison.

And there it was again. Everything, no matter the topic, always returned to fixate around their ignorance of each other’s characters past the tumultuous surface.

She decided that she wanted to do something about that, but Allison would logically expect a bit of Cait’s own backstory in return, and Cait wasn’t certain she was ready to talk about her past.

But, fuck it. The curiosity tugged at the edges of her mind so sharply she almost physically swatted at the imaginary something jerking her conscience until the unloyal bastard focused her thoughts on Allison.

She waited patiently for Allison to finish her meal before she initiated. Allison finished up, tossing the stick into the fire and wiping her hands on a ripped piece of fabric she’d pulled from nowhere before sitting silently, staring at the captivating dance of each individual flame.

“Hey, Alli?” It sounded almost feeble, shy even. Cait cursed herself.

“Hmm?” Allison acknowledged, raising her head. “Something up?”

“Well, not really. But it’s important.” She shifted uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact. “It’s got a lot to do with our little… partnership.”

“What’s on your mind, Cait?”

‘ _You_.’ She startled herself, but refused to show it.

“We’ve been on the road a while, now.”

“Yes. We have. What’s it been?” Allison asked.

“I dunno. A few months?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“We’ve taken some hard knocks.”

“ _You_ have taken some hard knocks,” Allison corrected, the slightest undertone of amusement slipping in.

Cait snorted. “Yeah? What about that time-.” Cait cut herself off as she realized Allison was right. Her companion was remarkably more careful and perceptive than she was, preferring to scout around an encampment before descending upon their weary foes. Allison had received damage before, of course, but the most major had been a flesh wound in her arm from a sniper nestled in the tenth story of the Boston Bugle building. And even then, Allison had impressively shrugged it off.

Cait scowled. “Okay, I guess so. But I’ve been hurt pretty bad.”

Allison nodded. Maybe she was remembering when a Mirelurk had almost gored Cait and left her to casually play with her own entrails? Or maybe one of the instances when Cait took five or more slugs to the chest? Perhaps she was recalling that time she’d twisted her foot backwards tromping carelessly up a steep, slippery slope?

Cait continued, recapturing Allison’s attention. “And through all that crap, you’ve been stickin’ by me side and helpin’ me when I need it the most. Ya know, watchin’ me back. Makin’ sure I don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

‘ _And patchin’ me up when I eventually do somethin’ stupid._ ’

Cait breathed, deeply. This wouldn’t be easy. During a risky trade, Cait would always demand payment first. That way, if she was stiffed, she wouldn’t look like a fool. However, she refused to appear cheap and needy, so she decided to spill her guts first.

“Listen, I’ve been thinkin’… I don’t really know you. And I don’t think ya know very much about me.”

Allison shook her head. “Only your name.”

Cait nodded. “That’s what I thought. And I was just thinkin’… I dunno, maybe ya want ta know a little bit about me? I mean, ya travel with me, for fock’s sake, and all ya know is me name.”

A quiet contemplation. “I suppose that would be nice,” Allison agreed.

Cait nodded again. Now, where to start? A sigh.

“You don’t have to do this, Cait. You don’t seem like you want to,” Allison noticed, and Cait’s head rose.

“No, I don’t. But I feel like I need ta get it out.” Cait stared at the fire and relished the warmth the crackling being lent her.

“It all starts with two wastes of humanity I suppose you could call my parents.”

Nothing. Cait guessed that was better than any reply.

A sad, sarcastic tug of the lips accompanied a somber chuckle. “I’m convinced I was a mistake, because I can’t remember a single moment that they treated me like their daughter. They were drunk, high off their noggins, abusive, the whole nine yards.”

Cait shivered, despite the flames. Some mornings, she swore she could still feel the lacerations on her arms, and on her back. They’d been especially cruel with their torture, occasionally shoving short, rusty nails through the leather of the belt they beat her with. Looking back, she could consider herself “lucky” that she didn’t die.

A whimper. A cold, wet something prodded her bare arm. She glanced down to stare into big, empathetic, puppy dog eyes as Dogmeat attempted to console her. For once, Cait didn’t shoo the smelly mongrel away, opting to take gentle solace as she ran her fingers through his fur. He lay down next to her, pressing his flank to her thigh.

“Everythin’ I did was wrong. Nuthin’ but a fockin’ nuisance in their drunk eyes. The whole time I was tellin’ meself that they had ta love me, even if it was just the tiniest bit, cause they never kicked me out. Me eighteenth birthday arrived, and I found out why they kept me around.”

Still, Allison was silent. Cait appreciated her focus, but also shied away from it.

“They slapped a shock collar ‘round me neck and sold me ta slavers.” Cait’s voice lowered, her head angled to stare at Dogmeat.

“Fockers didn’t even care enough about me ta say goodbye.”

That was what hurt the most. It wasn’t the lashings or the floggings or the times her pa would nearly drown her in the tub. It wasn’t the things that they shouted at her with a bottle in their meaty fists. It wasn’t even the time they broke both her legs and shoved her in a hot box to melt for a day and a half. It was the fact that, at the very core of their relationship, they weren’t showing their love in their own, twisted, abusive way. They simply hated her.

And if her own parents couldn’t love her, who could? Was she really that shitty of a person? She didn’t know.

Actually, she did, but out of courtesy for herself, she refused to acknowledge this and dig the pit she wasted away in deeper than it already was; from where she huddled now, the light no longer reached her.

“Eighteen years of sufferin’ through that shite and all I was worth to them was a fockin’ pocketful of caps. Not two pocketfuls. Just one.”

She was angry now. This was a mistake, a horrible mistake. She wanted to hit something, to scream and vocalize her fury, but then Allison would see what she really was: a husk filled with rage. Like one of those candies with a gooey center, but her center was much, much saltier, much more sour.

“Cait.”

Cait looked up, unintentionally glaring. But Allison wasn’t there. A hand, careful but firm, cupped her shoulder. Her gaze darted to the side to see Allison sitting there in the same position, knees tucked into her arms, facing toward her. One arm extended, and when she followed its trail down from her own shoulder, to the elbow, to the wrist, and finally her gaze rested on the hand that squeezed her own shoulder.

Cait froze like a deer staring at oncoming headlights, only the headlights were Allison’s sympathetic, emerald, uncovered eyes.

Dogmeat had snuggled further into Cait’s lap as well, but she didn’t notice that as much as the proximity and the heat between her and Allison.

“It’s okay, Cait. You’re with us now. Not with them.” The hand squeezed again, and Cait’s heart leapt. “We’ll keep you safe, Cait.”

This was just a little too good to be true. “Promise?” she blurted.

“… I promise.”

Silence. Allison averted her gaze, but Cait didn’t, soaking up the gravity of what just happened. It was an impossible promise: this was the holocaust. If mutated lizards and jealous scavengers didn’t kill her, nuclear radiation would eventually turn her insides to mush. But the sentimentality lay in the promise itself. Allison cared enough for her wellbeing that she’d pledged to protect her.

These last few months had knocked the wind from her.

And Cait’s story wasn’t even finished yet.

“Thanks.” Allison’s stare reverted to reengage her own. “But there’s more to the story. It would be easy ta blame me charmin’ personality on me parents, but they didn’t make me this way. I did.”

Clearly, by Allison’s expression, she didn’t believe her, so she elaborated. “I was with those slavers for five years. Roughest five of me goddamn life. They… they…”

Cait failed for words. How could she describe how they’d affected her? Physically would be easy. They’d used her, activating her shock collar to incapacitate her while they had their way with her. They’d force her to eat the most revolting shit, and they’d laugh. They’d kick her and beat her and sometimes they’d even stab her or shoot her, but if she ever raised a finger to defend herself, they’d strap the button on the remote to her collar down with duct tape and leave her spasming for minutes, sometimes hours on the floor while they cackled and hooted and hollered. The skin of her neck still had burns.

“You don’t have to say it. I understand.”

“Thanks.” Cait swallowed. “I bided me time and learned to use their own methods against them. Stealin’ a few caps out of a sleepin’ man’s pocket is a piece of cake. Long as ya don’t get too greedy.”

“Hmm,” Allison hummed

 

“Five. Long. Fockin’ years.” Her tone turned sour and bitter. “But I pocketed enough ta buy me own way outta there. I coulda walked away, maybe grab a job and try and repair the shambles of me life. But no. I couldn’t _fockin’_ let it go. I never can.”

“So I headed home.” Cait grimaced. “The looks on their bastard fockin’ faces as I kicked open the door, I’ll never forget. Did ya know the cowards begged? They begged me ta spare ‘em. Ya can guess what happens next.”

The last bit was whispered, her head bowing in shame.

“What, you killed them in fit of rage that was entirely their own fault?” Allison seemed like she was trying to clue Cait in on something.

Cait’s eyes narrowed. “What’re ya sayin’?”

“I’m saying,” the hand returned to her shoulder, “that you seem to think you’re a monster, Cait.”

“No fockin’ shite!” Cait exclaimed sarcastically, startling Dogmeat.

“But none of that was your fault, Cait. You’ve been through the wringer, and I’m honestly surprised that you’re still standing. You’re not a monster Cait. The monsters are your parents. You’re just… You’re just…”

“A crabby bitch?” Cait offered.

“A survivor.”

Spoken resolutely. Quietly.

A short period of silence. Cait figured she could accept that. In time. She’d never enjoyed blaming her problems on something else, even if it was fully justified. To her, it always felt like that track of thinking was reverting to victim mentality, and she refused to be a victim ever again.

“I suppose this is where I tell me story, eh?” Allison quipped. The hand untangled and returned to its sender, scratching unconsciously at her other elbow. Cait was sorry to see it go.

“If ya want to.”

“Mine’s a bit less… interesting than yours, but it’s a story.” She silently reflected, then began, “Once upon a time, I had a husband and a child. A baby boy named Shaun.”

“That’s it?” Cait did her best to keep any accusation from her tone.

“That’s it.” She cleared her throat, unsure of how to explain. “My family and I, we lived in a place once called Sanctuary Hills. I don’t know what they call it now, but that’s what it was when I lived here.”

“I know the place.”

Allison nodded. “We were happy. I had everything I could ask for. Someone to love. Someone to take care of. Somewhere peaceful and away from all the fighting.”

“Wait, wait. I thought ya said ya were a Vault Dweller?” Cait was becoming very suspicious now.

“I am. Was, at least.”

“Then how-?”

“Do know what the Great War was, Cait?” she asked, the subject veering off course.

“Sort of. I dunno the specifics, only that we have this ‘Great War’ to thank for this steamin’ pile o’ shit we call The Commonwealth.”

“Yeah, I don’t know much about it either,” she admitted. She hung her head for a brief moment, contemplating before she added, “It happened after I left.”

Gears ground to a halt in Cait’s mind. “Wait a minute. They say the Great War occurred hundreds of years ago.”

“Two hundred and ten, actually.” Cait just stared, fascinated, and Allison chortled bleakly. “Listen, I don’t know how to break it easy, so I’m just going to say it: I was alive before the Great War.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Uh-huh.”

Frustrated, she looked around, as if searching for proof. “I don’t know how to prove it to you.”

“I’ll tell ya why,” Cait leaned forward, betrayed. “Because yer lyin’.”

“I’m not lying!” she shouted, startling everyone, but this wasn’t the first time someone had raised their voice at Cait. Stubbornly determined, she wore a mask of utter disbelief.

Allison saw this, and shook her head sadly, chuckling sardonically. “Fuck this.” She rose to her feet, and Dogmeat raised his weary head. “I’m going to sleep. I don’t need some other jackass doubting my origins.”

She crossed around, Cait’s stare boring a clean hole through the rear of her skull. Her gaze never shifted over her shoulder as she rifled through her pack, unrolled her sleeping bag, and slipped her lean body into the pouch. She stilled with a snort seconds later.

“Goodnight.” Tense. Frustrated.

“…”

Cait watched her for a few seconds, ruminating over everything. Her closest friend, her _only_ friend, was lying to her and she didn’t know why. Cait’s heartstrings had been severed entirely, though the pessimistic portion of her knew this was coming. This was why she couldn’t trust someone.

She felt open, vulnerable. Allison had listened to her spout her darkest secrets- most of them, anyways- and then she’d attempted to feed Cait some wild, fantastical story about the Great War. Cait tried to think of what Allison could gain from this. Was she looking for juicy bits of info to blackmail Cait with? That made no sense; what would Allison want Cait to do that she couldn’t already do herself?

Was she attempting to get close with Cait, then stab her in the back, take her supplies and her dignity, and run? No, that couldn’t be it. Allison could’ve just shot the both of them at the Combat Zone when she first met them.

…Had she been hired by her old slavers to bring her back in?

Cait’s heart started to thud. There were rumors traveling the Commonwealth that a raider gang was hunting for a very particular runaway. Normally, this wouldn’t bother her; years had elapsed since she’d escaped, and by now most gangs would’ve thrown in the towel and kidnapped a passing wanderer to compensate for the loss.

But her old gang was not most gangs. She’d traveled far and wide for a reason; her personal slaver had issued her a promise on her way out the door: if he ever saw a wink of her, if he ever caught her scent on a passing breeze, he would track her down, and he would return her to her rightful spot: chained to the floor between his greasy thighs.

He was the one person she feared, the one person whose name tasted of poison and anguish and disgusting, stomach-churning violation of her body and her mind. Anarchy tended to feed the sadistic and the clever, and he was equal parts both, so when he was introduced to the wonderful world of post-war North America, no one other than him could possibly know the joy he’d experienced when he’d realized he could do anything, _any_ thing he wanted. Even if it defied basic humanity.

And poor, poor Cait; few can live without love, and he was no exception, even if the devotion was entirely one-sided. A cute, naïve redhead with a nice body? He’d settled for less, but this time he hadn’t. He was manipulative and evil at his core, and even when she’d left, she’d left with a piece of him clinging to her soul like a leech.

If anyone would remember her after all this time, if anyone were to exploit every resource into finding their lost love, it would be him.

And as ruthless and skilled as Allison was, she could easily play the part of the bounty hunter. A lone hunter accompanied by a faithful hound with a made up backstory? The more she thought about it, the more she began believing her own conspiracy theories.

“You okay?”

She jumped at the sudden voice, and she glanced over to see a worried Allison twisted around.

“Cait? What’s the matter?”

“Why did ya lie to me?” Cait demanded fearfully. She wouldn’t go back to him. She _couldn’t_ go back to him, she’d kill herself before she’d ever return to him.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Answer me!”

“I’m not lying to you, Cait!” she snapped, very exasperated.

Cait just snorted.

“What do you want me to say?!” Allison demanded, desperate.

“It’s obvious isn’t it? I want the truth!”

“You have the truth, Cait.”

Cait’s expression soured even more than it was.

Allison gave up with a heavy sigh. “Alright, fine. Goodnight. Again.” With that, Allison slunk down into her bedroll, rustled around a little, and her breathing steadied.

Cait entertained the thought. Allison was insisting that she was an original Vault Dweller, and for the moment, Cait wondered if it was her intuition that was lying to her. It would explain a lot. She constantly popped references to pieces of media Cait had never heard of before. There were so many things Allison didn’t know; they were simple things, like what a Mirelurk was, or how to filter radiation from water. She’d apparently missed out on what every parent told every ten-year-old, and that would make sense if she hadn’t lived in a world like this one for most of her life. And then there was her demeanor: Allison was always confident in her own abilities, but underneath all of the externalities, she seemed… lost. Afraid. The latter was common among wastelanders, but the former had puzzled Cait for quite a while.

Then Cait’s mind remembered how kind Allison was to her. Cait knew she could be insufferable, but Allison had yet to kick her out. There was something between them, but she didn’t know what it was, only that it told her that a lie of this magnitude couldn’t ever make sense.

It was that something that prompted Cait to humor Allison, if only for just a moment.

She cleared her throat, softened her tone and her heart, and asked, “Say I believe you.”

Allison’s head twitched.

“Say I believe that you were alive before the bombs dropped. How did ya survive until now?”

Silence. Cait mistook the quiet for Allison’s unconsciousness, but she mumbled something.

“…Frozen,” was all Cait heard.

“Come again?”

Allison sighed. “Promise me you won’t accuse me of lying,”

“…Alright. I promise.”

“…We were part of the Vault’s experiments. You know about them?”

“Yeah. Some twisted shite if I ever heard it.”

“Yeah, it was. We were… My family… My husband and I had served in the military, so we got a free pass into one of these vaults. You have to understand, Cait, we didn’t know they were government experiments. I only learned after I exited mine.”

Cait nodded, but realized Allison couldn’t see it, so she replied, “Okay.”

“They told us they were decontaminating us. Instead, they froze us like popsicles.” Allison shifted inward.

“I thought ya told ol’ Nicky you were sleepin’ when the invisible man popped yer husband and took yer son?”

“I was. For two hundred years I lived the life of an icicle. When I woke up… felt like no time had passed. And when I stepped out of the vault…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, real, authentic, undeniable emotion withholding her words with its grasp of titanium-steel. “Suffice to say I was a little shocked to find the world in the state it was in.”

Cait bit her lip; she might actually have been wrong, but that didn’t sting nearly as bad as admitting her guilt. She stuttered a few times before she could force the words from her throat. “Sorry. It’s just hard ta believe-. I’m sorry.”

There was a quiet, the type that consisted entirely of apprehensive tension and stole the air from Cait’s lungs, the type that Cait had always hated; suspense always seemed to bother her more than anyone else.

“…That’s okay, Cait.”

And then Allison ceased her fidgety squirming and was silent.

Cait lounged there on her haunches, gradually drifting away as her eyes thoughtfully ogled the collapsing ceiling. Cait pondered what the past would’ve been like, before the atom bombs obliterated the world, before she’d ever have to worry about losing her toes by accidentally stepping in puddles of radioactive slime. She’d heard rumors, seen pictures, stared at the remains of the Pre-War posters plastered upon the walls. In her younger days, when she’d cowered out of sight of her parents, she’d even discovered an intact Giddyup Buttercup horse. She’d loved that horse, with its peeling yellow coat of paint and the gravelly, static-filled neigh emitted from the mouth when she bent its head at a certain angle. It was her only friend. She could imagine how cool it would’ve been to hug a brand new doll, but she could only dream about it now.

Hesitantly, Cait called out, “Hey, Alli?”

Allison grumbled a response. “Yeah?”

“What was it like? Before the war, I mean?”

Nothing at first. Allison didn’t move a muscle, so when she finally spoke, it took Cait off guard.

“It was beautiful.”

Sorrowful and yearning for better times. A brief pause, but Allison continued in that voice that grew ever more nostalgic by the second, that spoke of a lost land and a lost people like they were heaven and its angels, that carried with it a melancholy undertone to every syllable of every word of every sentence.

“The sun wasn’t trying to kill you. Sometimes you could even go outside without throwing on sunscreen. The grass was actually green, and all the lawns had sprinklers that the kids would run through on hot days. The flowers had color and vibrancy, blues and violets and reds and yellows. It smelled wonderful. In the countryside, anyways, not like this- this stench that permeates through everything.”

Cait knew of no such stench, but then, she’d lived in the nuclear apocalypse her whole life. She was listening intently, already lost in the world Allison described.

“The wildlife didn’t have two heads. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder every ten seconds so that something doesn’t maul you and drag you away to its lair. The water was crystal clear, and you could drink it!”

Allison shifted around now so her face was visible, and Cait noticed the dreaminess in her eyes and the genuine, if faint, smile on her face as she was sucked into her own reverie.

“You could actually go down to any stream you saw and just drink the water! No bullshit filters, you could just cup your hands and drink!”

“Just like that?” Cait asked, amazed.

“Just like that.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Oh! And there were these things called butterflies! Yeah, they had these beautiful wings with these little designs and they’d flit about, and if you stood still enough one would land on you your finger! Oh yeah, there was this one time, in the park, Nate and I were walking with Shaun in his stroller, and we walked through a whole cloud of the things, and one landed right on Shaun’s cute little nose! I think I took a picture. Here, I’ll show you!”

And suddenly with energy and enthusiasm Cait hadn’t seen in anyone ever, she clambered and crawled over to her backpack. She cursed as she searched the pack, tossing several items over her shoulder before her gaze softened and she held a picture with both hands. Without looking away from the picture, she shuffled around the fire and crouched next to Cait, leaning in and shoving the picture excitedly in her face.

“See? There’s the butterfly, and there’s Shaun.”

Quiet, but… happy.

A black-and-white image graced the glossy film, and on it, the pudgy face of a baby boy was inscribed. His brow furrowed and his eyes crossed to look at the insect propped peacefully on his button nose. Cait thought it was absolutely gorgeous, even without color. It was so tranquil, so at peace and its wings were so large and heavenly. Yet beauty came at a price; it looked so fragile and breakable, like a simple sneeze would crush the little thing.

Cait involuntarily reached up to grasp it with her fingers, but Allison didn’t object. The insect was just so captivating, it transfixed her. This was something from the old world? The old world really must have been spectacular!

A moment of silence as they stared at the picture. Then Allison interrupted.

“No one wanted to kill each other. Well, that’s not right, but you didn’t have to worry about your neighbors sneaking into your house to slit your throat while you slept. I had a steady job with a stable income. I had a warm, cozy house and good food, food that I didn’t need to hunt every day.”

Cait became very aware of how close they’d become: their shoulders pressed together firmly and Allison leaned in to comment as she stared into the Polaroid.

“I had friends, and sometimes they’d come over to my house and we’d have an outdoor barbecue where everyone laughed and ate and had fun. I had a car, so I didn’t have to walk everywhere. I had a rose garden. I had good clothes.

“I had Nate. And Shaun.”

Her voice faltered, her tone beginning to tremble. “I had Nate and Shaun…” she whispered more to herself than anyone, lost in memories as her fingers traced the edges, the lines, and the dimples of Shaun’s face.

She was so tired. Cait could tell this without looking over; exhaustion overflowed from Allison’s soul and soaked everything in the near vicinity with a depressing urge to just lie down and give up. The feeling was familiar, this forlorn desire for the stressful, endless fight of survival to cease by any means, whether that be death or something else entirely.

“That sounds pretty nice,” Cait commented.

Allison’s head hit Cait’s shoulder, and a flash of panic coursed through Cait before she could reign in her heartbeat.

“I had Nate and Shaun…” she murmured drowsily, deliriously, her words vibrating through Allison and into Cait.

Cait continued to look at the photo to try and distract herself from the smell of Allison. The chances to bathe in the wasteland were few and far between, so she stunk badly of body odor, blood, and that acrid scent of gunpowder. It was overpowering, but Cait found herself appreciating the rawness of it, the realness of it. _This_ was life in the wasteland, not the fantasy world of battling demons and monsters the Vault Dwellers made it out to be. The smell was intoxicating, and she had to turn her head upward to keep herself from doing anything foolish.

A snore. Cait glanced down to realize that Allison had fallen asleep.

“Aw, shit,” she cursed as she attempted to wiggle out from under Allison without waking her, but nothing worked. After a solid minute of failed attempts, she surrendered with a sigh. She glanced around, looking for something to quell her racing pulse, but eventually she found it in the rhythmic thumping of Allison’s heart that Cait savored through their mild contact. Her arm was squished uncomfortably between them, and Cait couldn’t place it in any position that would allow some relief. Finally, reluctantly, she slowly reached upward, her arm traveling up through the valley of Allison’s shoulder blades and settled around the other sleeping woman’s shoulders.

Cait’s head thumped against the metal wall, compressing the material and sending a metallic thud reverberating through the hollow walls. She breathed deep, fingers grazing Allison’s chest as they dangled over her shoulder, and lost herself to visions of brilliantly colored butterflies fluttering through lush meadows of green grass and vibrant flowers of blues and violets and reds and yellows, of clear brooks and a warm, gentle sun.

As sleep claimed her consciousness, her head gradually rolled forward until her lips swam in fiery red locks. Neither noticed, and neither cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought this chapter was weaker than the others. I might rewrite.


	5. The Intervention

It was time. She would conquer whatever fears that seized her heart like a plagued raven would wrap its gangrenous claws around an unsuspecting mouse, and no matter what excuse her mind could conjure, she would cross this bridge. Literally and figuratively.

Sanctuary Hills appeared as just another rundown neighborhood loitering silently in the Commonwealth, picked clean by scavengers. There was no life, and subsequently, no sound, not even the harsh buzzing of putrefying Bloatfies or the insectoid screeching of mutated cockroaches. The sun shone smack dab in the center of the sky, beating everything into submission with its sweltering rays of sunlight. Houses whose hues were robbed of their starkness by time lazed in a strict format of two separate rows running and running until they pooled into a roundabout on the opposite edge of the island. Every roof had caved in in some way or another, and the tiles of the walls shattered and fell from their square frames, leaving gaping holes that let any passersby witness the ransacked interiors. Cracked, dirt-caked bathtubs, melting rubber tires, and felled, rotting trees partially obscured a crumbling asphalt road that stretched all the way until there was no more ground to continue, just a singeing, radioactive moat. Glass and bullet casings littered the ground in equal measures, both glittering between strands of yellowed, overgrown grass. A steady, dry wind whipped dust up from the ground and blew the scathing particles, accompanied by tangled tumbleweeds, across the ground.

A ghost of its former self, Allison’s gaze surveyed the entirety of her old neighborhood, despairing at the disrepair her once cheery subdivision had stumbled into. She saw all of this from across the wooden bridge, of which half of had surrendered to the murky, irradiated river that stranded the island. She looked down and stared at the wormholes in the wood, studied the grain and the way the lines waved and swelled.

She couldn’t turn back now. She had a mission; two specifically, but she’d traveled here to complete only one of them. A lot had happened since the death of Conrad Kellogg. A return trip to Diamond City was deemed necessary, and after the hike back across great fields, winding train tracks, and mazes of buildings, they’d waltzed through the gates and regrouped with Valentine. After conversing about the events and the revelation that Allison possessed a piece of the mercenary’s brain, a journey to a shifty, sleazy cesspool counterintuitively dubbed “Goodneighbor”- though through Allison’s perspective, there was nothing remotely good about these neighbors- was decided as required. Once there, a certain neuroscience expert with the amazing ability to let anyone relive any memories had insisted on using the gory brain matter serendipitously acquired during the mercenary’s demise to hack into Kellogg’s mind and probe for clues. It was then that Allison learned several shocking truths: the Institute utilized the nonexistent art of teleportation to enter and exit, but more importantly to Allison, that Shaun was indeed a little older than she’d expected. It was also discovered that an Institute Scientist, a Brian Virgil, had fled into the radioactive No Man’s Land, The Glowing Sea, to escape the Institutes wrath. The next segment of her adventure would have her trudging through puddles that could melt her flesh and bones in seconds.

But before she would travel south, she would travel north. The trail for Shaun had finally picked up steam, and now that the possibility of finding her little boy grew greater with every step, she realized she needed to do something else before she journeyed further. It was not a necessity, in the sense that it impeded the chances of finding Shaun, but as days passed it nagged at her so fiercely she’d decided that this needed done.

As far as Allison knew, Nate’s body remained trapped in the tomb that was Vault 111, displayed like a mummy in a sarcophagus at a museum. The longer she thought about it, the more regret weighed down her conscience that she hadn’t already laid his body to rest. If she’d met an untimely fate, there was no doubt that Nate would give her the respect and love she deserved. But the roles weren’t reversed, and she felt like shit for not sucking it up and doing it earlier.

She was here now, though, ready to pay reparations for her misdeeds. If only she could just cross this stupid, fucking bridge and all she’d have left was the home stretch.

Dogmeat whimpered, and licked her gloved fingers. Cait, growing bolder as time stretched on, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Allison turned to look at her, aware of the mask of terror she wore, and saw a face full of total, if awkward, understanding. There was a lot more of that recently, Cait’s friendlier, more compassionate behavior, and trickles of it continued to seep through ever-growing cracks in her tough-gal facade. She bitched a lot less and followed most orders without complaint, and in times like these she offered her support. Her demeanor was promising, and Allison’s excited heart calmed at her touch, she desired to hold her hand again, but that would take things farther than what they already were.

Instead of something so impulsive, she inhaled sharply, then exhaled in the same manner. A tentative foot reached out to test the plank, less out of fear of plummeting into cold, prickly water and more out of fear of confronting her past.

One step forward. She was okay. No panic squeezed her chest and wrung the air from her lungs. She breathed a shaky breath, Dogmeat’s snout pressed to her calf and Cait’s words behind her.

“It’s okay, Alli. We’re here.”

She nodded vigorously. Then, she took another step.

The same reaction. No fearful clench in her gut, no instinct that screamed in her ear to turn and run as fast and far as she could from this dreadful place where everything was dead and everything that was still living would die shortly after.

“There we go, girly. Ya got this.”

She took another step.

There. The smallest pinprick of doubt in her chest. She refused to allow anything to hinder her; she’d come so far and she certainly wouldn’t turn back now.

She took another step to try and quell the anxiety.

It didn’t work; it only worsened, growing just a little bit larger, gaining just a small amount of momentum. But still, she clung tightly to her belief and she continued.

She took another step.

Her efforts only seemed to exacerbate the tightness in her breast and the uneasiness in her gut. Her breaths were flowing faster now, harsher, more desperate.

She took another, wobbly step.

That was it. She couldn’t go any farther. Terror pervaded her every move, pervaded her soul and sprouted goosebumps all over her flesh. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs wouldn’t contract or expand, spasming and refusing all orders and pleas from Allison as she wheezed and gasped. Her stomach turned and sloshed as nausea threatened to empty her stomach all over the bridge, and she panicked.

She couldn’t do this. It was too scary, too difficult. This was a place of death, not of sanctuary. All of her worries overwhelmed her, crashing against her in titanous waves, and all of her choices slammed into her at once. What would Nate think of her now? Selfish? Miserable? Unworthy? Nate was dead, she had no doubt in her mind, but what if he wasn’t? What if she turned the corner and he was standing there, ashamed and disappointed? Would he forgive her for leaving him there? Would he forgive her for losing Shaun?

She twisted around, attempting to push through her companions who simultaneously closed her only exit.

“I can’t do this… _I can’t do this…_ ” she rasped, wildly trying to shove Cait aside who stayed rooted like an iron anchor. “ _Let me past, dammit!_ ”

She actually couldn’t breathe, her vision darkening into a tunnel, and her fingers tingling. But Cait stood firm, resisting against Allison with all the force she could muster.

“Oh, no ya don’t!” Cait grunted, clutching each of Allison’s arms tightly and locking her into position. Allison, reduced to nothing more than a terrified animal, tried to dodge left and right from her grip, but Cait would not be fooled so easily. “Hey! Alli!”

“ _I can’t do this…_ ”

“Alli!”

“ _…Can’t do this…_ ”

The sharp sound of flesh smacking against flesh echoed from the grim faces of the houses down the corridor of homes. Allison halted all movement, hand darting to her cheek where Cait had slapped her. When Cait thought the odds of reaching through to Allison were favorable, she leaned in close so that her face was the only object a startled Allison could see.

“Alli! Stay with me!” she pleaded, but Allison recovered and attempted to dash around her so she barked, “Hey! Now ya listen here! _Dammit, I said listen here!_ ”

Allison stilled to a jarring tremble, eyes wide, ensnared by indecision between fight or flight.

“We did _not_ just travel a couple of miles through Hell and high water just ta have ya pussy out at the last second!”

Allison shook her head “no” vigorously, so Cait tried a different approach.

“Christ, just look at yerself! This is pathetic! Get yer act together, or I’m knockin’ yer ass out and carryin’ ya across whether ya like it or not!”

Cait’s words settled in, and Allison ceased her fighting. She didn’t allow Cait to back off though, fingernails still painfully latched into Cait’s shoulder blades. Cait would never admit it, but being this close to Allison was fine by her.

“Ya okay?” She queried hesitantly, her expression calming.

The initial shock mollified, Allison gulped loudly, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. Breathing was possible again, and her chest felt hot, searing pain in the absence of oxygen. Her gut had yet to quiet its tense stirring of consternation, but at least she could breathe. She held Cait close long after she required someone’s grounding presence, waiting for her chest to stop heaving and for her heart to climb down and out of her throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Ya wanna try that again?”

Allison nodded her head with unintended exaggeration. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Reluctantly, Allison retreated from their embrace and turned to face Sanctuary Hills. Her stomach still boiling but her lungs full of air, she was about to resume when Dogmeat whined loudly. His flank pressed against her right calf and Cait’s hand tickled the back of her other palm. Both companions at her side, she took another step.

Then another.

And then another.

And then another.

She kept stepping forward, the fluff of Dogmeat’s nape brushing against her fingertips on one side and Cait’s hand tantalizingly close on her other. The boards creaked and groaned and gave in a startling amount, but the bridge never yielded to old age. She just kept stepping and stepping and stepping, the ache in her gut never relenting but her lungs constantly and easily bringing in dusty air, until-.

The creaking stopped. The ground beneath her was solid and crunchy, and when she looked down at it she could no longer spy polluted, bister waves in the spaces between splintered boards. Instead, the floor was made of weathered tar and sprouting seedlings.

She’d made it.

Allison’s gaze shifted upwards, the ache in her gut gradually diminishing until it ceased to exist. A tranquil solemnness overtook her as she stared at the sad sight around her. What was once a busy neighborhood where children giggled and chased each other in never ending games of tag was a ghost town. Corroded cars and trucks lay dead in their paths, some halfway out of their driveways and garages from their owners’ futile attempts to escape, windshields smashed and hubcaps dented and flung about the yards. Nothing had gone untouched by anything.

Her legs carried her automatically, the soles of her feet scuffing against the ground pummeled by sunlight. Sweet memories assaulted her as she ambled forward, playing like a movie in a drive-in theater. She envisioned the Fourth of July party that summer right before she became pregnant, that one with the bonfire in the Able’s front yard. They’d managed to smuggle in real, launching fireworks; she could hear the massive explosion of sound and color even now. She saw the lights that were strung from lamppost to lamppost every December, deep green and velvety red intermingling and influencing a Christmassy atmosphere. Finally, her eyes arrived upon their house, devouring every detail as if it were right there in front of her. Restored and brilliant as ever.

Wait.

That wasn’t an illusion. That was reality.

“What the…” Cait trailed off in awe behind her.

It was her house.

It was actually her house.

The roof had been patched so well, shingles black and beautiful upon the crest, she couldn’t tell the difference between what it once was and what it was now. The walls were whole again, every square tile pasted back in their places, and a clean coat of baby blue paint had been applied, with ivory highlights. The white picket fence guarded the perimeter once more, and though the grass could not be resurrected, the lawn was trimmed uniformly across the entire expanse. New windows were installed, gleaming intensely, and when Allison studied them further, she noticed they were thicker, comprised of multiple layers. Apparently reinforced.

Caution warned her of a ruse, but curiosity’s magnetizing effect was much stronger, and as if she were atop a cloud she floated to the front door. Every minute detail was in place, every little perfection proudly presented for all to see. Her flower garden lining the pathway to the entrance had been resuscitated, though they didn’t white look like roses. Mutated, the petals were slightly more splayed than they should be, and the top third of every blood-red petal appeared to have been dipped in white chocolate. Impossibly incredible. Incredibly impossible.

“Bloody Hell, someone really spiffed this place up, eh?”

Dogmeat barked in agreement.

But Allison wasn’t focused on Cait or Dogmeat at that time. Allison was concentrated on the door glossed with a hue like that of an orange creamsicle two steps ahead. She peered through the hatch at eye level, but saw no movement or signs of life inside, so she tried the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. She almost dropped to a scuffed knee to persuade the lock to let them through with a bobby pin and some ingenuity, but an unexplainable urge overtook her. Slowly, her arm reached out, index finger extended. She compressed the little white button once, soaking in the familiar jingle that played indoors through the barrier.

And not a second too soon, an enthusiastic robot zipped around the corner and proceeded to race to the meet his guests.

The door swung open.

That lovely British accent she didn’t know she’d missed exclaimed, “Miss Allison! And company! What joy!”

Allison stepped past the squealing robot butler, gaping at the living room.

“Codsworth… Did you do this?” she half-whispered.

“Why, yes I did mum! And proudly, if I may say so myself!” he beamed, oscillating and bobbing up and down.

“It” referred to the refurbished living room. An unstained beige couch, similar to the old one and very well groomed, lay just to the right of the doorway exactly where the old one used to rest. Her fingers trailed over the material and was surprised to find the furniture soft to the touch, not crumbly and disgusting like two-hundred-year-old cloth _should_ feel. The carpet had been replaced, this one noticeably spongier and gentler on the feet, and pristine wall paper was pasted on every wall. Everything painted now sported a fresh coat, and the once crippled shelves and tables appeared to have been freshly constructed and lacquered purely from scratch, and skillfully so. The kitchenware appeared to have just been pulled from the box set, all chrome and bedazzled. Another holotape player lounged next to the couch, and from it a tasteful selection emanated and filled the space with smooth, soothing tunes. Working lightbulbs hung in fixtures on the ceiling and hid behind blinds in scattered lamps across the room. A television set larger and considerably less broken than the last with a convex screen that sheened rested opposite the coffee table before the couch. New linoleum flooring covered the ground near the kitchen. It even seemed Codsworth had attempted to restore the pictures and picture frames, replacing the lost with ones from their family photo albums, and set up new decorations for the lost. The whole house looked… Pre-War.

“So whaddya think, mum?” Codsworth queried merrily.

Allison gawked in the middle of the room, absorbing everything at once. “I… I…”

“This is downright fockin’ amazin’! And ya say ya did this yerself, tin can?” Cait ogled, prodding an experimental finger at the lever on the toaster, pressing it down then jumping back when the spring shot the lever back up again. “Never did know what these pieces of scrap were for…”

 Dogmeat was content to lay on the cool floor of the kitchen next to a vent blowing cold air. That meant the air conditioning was functional.

“Yes, mum!” Codsworth hovered close to Allison and waited until eyes wide as saucer plates landed on one of his three optics.

“How…?” Allison’s sentence wandered off, but Codsworth understood.

“Oh, the toil and trouble it took to find all the bits and pieces, but _this_ Mr. Handy doesn’t give up so easily, no siree! _I_ was built in the loving factories of General Atomics International!” He realized how unsatisfactory the answer was, and so he continued. “You and Pop had a splendid, dare I say _marvelous_ , little cottage here in ol’ Sanctuary Hills, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah.” Allison nodded. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“And it was always kept in tip-top shape, was it not, mum?”

“As far as I remember it, yeah.” Waxed floors, clean toilets, no leaky pipes. Codsworth had proven himself the couple’s most shrewd purchase many times over.

“Yes mum, I’d be hard pressed to say this was the shiniest house on the block!”

Confused and impatient, Allison queried, “Alright, so you were an excellent robot butler. What about it?”

Suddenly sheepish, Codsworth admitted, “You may have noticed that for the last couple of centuries I’ve… slacked behind in my duties as a robot butler.”

“Yup. Looked like a nuclear bomb hit it”

“You can say that again! It’s just… Well, I didn’t think you were ‘around’ anymore. And what use is a being made to serve with no one to serve?” His tone lightened. “But as fate would have it, you returned! And I was so indescribably happy to see you again, mum, even if young Shaun and the hubby weren’t tagging along. Those few days you stayed were possibly the most wonderful days of my existence! You departed again soon after, things to do, a son to find and the other necessities of life, but you were alive!”

Codsworth swayed side to side in a wide, excited path and the shutters of his eyes closed completely then retracted. Cait watched from the sidelines with a quirked brow.

“And then I looked at our wonderful house and I said to myself, I said, ‘Codsworth, you’ve really let this place go! A good robot butler would’ve slaved over his master’s house day and night, and what have you done? Tightened a loose bolt on your chassis? Pah, I say!’”

She smiled, though he couldn’t see it. She’d missed his undying zeal.

“So I took a vow, mum! I vowed that from then on, I’d take up the mantle of my old responsibilities and reclaim our old glory, no matter how long it would be ‘til our next encounter!”

Allison, still dazed, ogled the room, studying the designs of the wallpaper, the sterile kitchen, and the bottles of wine atop the liquor cabinet. “I still don’t understand how you did all of this.”

If robots could blush, Codsworth blushed. “A bit of hard work is all, mum. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Allison gestured to the lightbulb directly above her head. “Do they work?”

Cheery and proud, he responded, “Yes, mum, they do indeed! The switch is in the same place it was when you left, if you prefer to find out yourself.”

At his suggestion, she wander to the little plastic lever and flicked the switch. To her amazement, the bulbs ignited with dazzling, steady life the second she threw the lever.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Cait vocalized her astonishment. “Don’t think I’ve seen that more than twice me whole life.”

Codsworth explained, “Powered by nuclear fission, as is the rest of the house. The reactor was quite a bother to get up and running again, but after a run-in with a, well, I suppose you could call them a kooky band of individuals, a fellow Mister Handy, and an especially cranky Deathclaw, I managed to scavenge the essential parts and fixed up a mighty fine substitute.”

Her head cocked off center expressing puzzlement, and his frame rattled as he shivered. “Don’t ask. It’s a story for another day. Anyways,” the volume of his voice increased so all could easily hear, “As I said, The House of Tomorrow is fully functional! The thermostat works and works well. Water is radiation free and the temperature is adjustable to your personal preference!”

“No way!” Cait stated, eyes narrowing in disbelief. She sauntered over to the sink, turning knobs and testing the water. The whites of her eyes visible from Allison’s position, Cait turned around, hand still underneath the faucet, and exclaimed, “Ha! He’s right!” Seconds later, she hissed as her face winced and she immediately retracted her arm, cradling her burnt palm. “Fock! And it gets hot, too!”

Codsworth’s attention returned to Allison. “You’ll find all the utilities operating correctly, including the lavatory, the wall sockets, the microwave, the washing machine, etc., etc. The fridge is fully stocked and I’ve hidden more goodies in the storage compartment. The-.”

“Storage compartment? What storage compartment?” Allison interrupted.

“Ah, right! I suppose I should inform you of a few changes I personally found necessary given the abysmal circumstances. Come, come!” And with that, he floated off.

Allison found Codsworth hovering inside the laundry room and above a new addition: a hatch with a very sturdy-looking locking mechanism. A mechanical arm reached down- “Just twist this, and voila”- and propped open the air-tight cover that revealed itself to be several inches thick of titanium and lead. She crouched and peeked over the threshold. The room wasn’t large, but was by no means small, with boxes upon boxes and crates upon crates of food, water, weapons, and ammunition. In fact, as her gaze washed lazily over a mattress, a makeshift toilet, and a generator, she realized what it was.

“It’s a bomb shelter.”

“Very perceptive of you, mum! As of now, for a lone occupant, one can survive for approximately two and one half months before a supply run to the surface is required. I know it’s unlikely that anyone in the world remains to drop another nuclear warhead, but better safe than sorry is what I always say.”

Allison looked back up at him. She stood regarded the robot for a moment, then quietly said, “Thank you, Codsworth.”

“Much appreciated, mum. But I’m not finished!” And off he flew again.

This time, she discovered him next to an unassuming window in her old room. She paused as she entered, her breath catching in her throat. As with the rest of the house, it was recreated down to the last insignificant detail. Insignificant to everyone else, that is; to Allison, all of it was significant. A laundered comforter spread wrinkleless across a very comfy looking mattress with two poofy pillows dozed where it used to doze. There was the padded recliner in the corner and the lamp next to the bed. There was the ticking Wakemaster alarm clock and various pictures atop the headboard. Across the way, next to the window with actual curtains, the American flag waved patriotically next to a radio and, surprisingly, a camera also sat upon an antique desk.

She pointed curiously at the camera. “Does it work?”

“I told you all utilities work, did I not?” he explained as if the answer was obvious.

Finished gazing at a world from long ago, she waltzed over to where Codsworth floated.

“Mid reconstruction, I realized the Commonwealth isn’t as safe as it once was. As such, I took the liberty of reinforcing certain areas of the house, specifically the outer walls, the windows, the floors, and the roof.” A rusted metal appendage tapped the glass. “I hauled these beauties all the way from a military installation down south. Resistant to most infantry weapons, save explosives or armor-piercing ammunition.”

Allison studied the glass. It was inches thick, comprised of multiple layers, and left her wondering how a single robot with only one thruster could carry something this heavy over such a long distance. She would ask him later. She would ask a _lot_ later.

He shifted just a bit to run a pincher over the wall. “And these? Steel plating inserted wherever I could fit them.”

“Ah. You said something about the roof and the floor?” she queried.

Codsworth’s pincher waved dismissively as he explained, “Those are decidedly more boring, having to do with a change in design: a bolt here, a beam there and whatnot. Nothing that could sustain an interesting conversation.”

“So, mum.” He eagerly hovered in closer. “Whaddya think?”

To say Allison was impressed would be a massive understatement; she was downright stupefied at the effort put forth into creating a veritable bomb shelter. Her heart fluttered as she realized she had a home again. A working, defensible house with food and all the luxury items she could ask for. Peace and quiet. In this one moment, where she could forget about her troubles with Shaun, she allowed herself a moment of unrestrained jubilation.

“Thank you Codsworth. So much.”

“Any day, mum, any day.” His chrome appendages swiveled once around his body, and then he was off, drifting towards the door. “If you’ll excuse me, mum, I shall tend to the guests.”

And he was gone.

Now alone, Allison studiously perused the room and its contents. Her fingers traced along the plateaus of the intricately embossed comforter, imagining how sublime sleeping under covers as gentle as these would be. She stooped to smell the bed; like the most wonderful laundry soap she’d ever smelled, but that was likely because all other mattresses of the Commonwealth hadn’t endured a good scrubbing since the bombs dropped. She wandered over to the chair, fondly tossing her backpack to the side and plopping down into the miniature couch. She sighed, content with the way the furniture cradled her sore thighs, and after a few moments of bliss she stood up. She wandered a little farther over, twisting dials on the radio, before she arrived at the camera, scooping the device up, peering through the lens before pretending to snap a few pictures around the room. She appreciated the device now, fully appreciated the power of capturing time as it was in an instant; she worried that over time she would forget what her life before it all was like, forget the happiness she’d lost.

As she placed the camera back on the table, she noticed a photo. An examination later, and she recognized it as their family pictures in the park. Her thumb glanced over Nate’s smiling, handsome mug, over hers, and finally over baby Shaun’s.

‘ _Shaun’s room._ ’

A few quick strides, and her heart simultaneously melted and rent itself in two. The room was exactly as she remembered. There was the chair, albeit this sported a different design, and the baby changing station, restocked with diapers, towels, and everything. And then there was the crib. Sky blue and sturdy with a mobile of rocket ships soaring in mesmerizing circles, the tiny bed hovered upon a stitched carpet of deep space, with more ships rocketing by. She stepped forward, carefully, eagerly, until her stomach hit the bars and she loomed over the bed. Ruffling cool, satin sheets, she realized with a pang that Shaun wouldn’t fit in this anymore.

“I’m coming, baby. Just hang in there,” she whispered nonetheless.

 

**ooooo**

 

‘ _So this was what life was like before the war?_ ’ Cait asked herself, still transfixed on the lavishness of her surroundings. She hoped they’d visit here more often; to Cait this was its own slice of heaven.

The robot emerged from the hallway on a course towards her.

“Hello, and welcome to The House of Tomorrow! I apologize, but I don’t think I caught your name, mum?” he queried, too chipper for Cait’s preference.

Distrustfully, she offered it up after a period of extensive thought. She didn’t give her name to just anyone; she’d acquired a long list of enemies throughout her career in the Combat Zone. However, she trusted Allison with her life and ultimately deemed the robot not a threat.

“Cait.”

“Alright, Miss Cait, have you yen for a snack, or a cold beverage? The journey must’ve been incredibly taxing.”

“Ya got any beer stashed in that shiny, steel noggin of yers?”

The joke flew over that shiny, steel noggin of his. “No, but I’m sure I can rustle up one from the refrigerator. Does Gwinnett suit your fancy, mum?”

“Sounds fine,” she mumbled, seating herself on a stool at the counter. Attempting to sound casual, she threw in, “So where’s Alli run off to?”

A single optic swiveled to fix on Cait and another on something behind her. “I believe that’s Miss Allison by the window, there.”

Cait twisted her head around. Sure enough, Allison skulked tall and contemplative, in front of the living room window, gazing out at the washed-out landscape, and, to Cait’s surprise, sans hat, mask, coat, and boots. Cait had only ever snuck an occasional peek at Allison’s face, but she’d never witnessed her so casual in her clothing. Beneath all that armor, she wore a checkered button-up, cuffs unbuttoned, and jeans worn and faded. Her head tilted just slightly to the right.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Oh, nothin’. Just didn’t know if ya’d wandered off without me,” she drawled. Her cheeks flushed, and she was grateful Allison faced the other direction. The clink of the glass colliding with the counter startled her, but she regained her wits, snatched the capless beverage from its place, and chugged a few hefty gulps. It’d been too long since the last occasion she’d drunk anything cold.

“Ah,” Allison acknowledged. Then, she asked inquisitively, “Hey, Codsworth.”

“Yes, mum?” Codsworth replied, water sloshing from the bowl he filled to eventually place on the floor for an impatient Dogmeat to slurp.

“Did a band of settlers ever arrive here? I met a group in Concord looking for Sanctuary Hills, so I directed them here.”

“Ah, you mean the Minutemen!” Codsworth exclaimed.

“Yeah, those guys. The ones headed by the guy who looked ripped straight from an old history textbook,” she confirmed.

“Yes, they were here, mum. I would have helped them, but I was a little too busy fixing up the place to lend them a helpful claw.” He somberly bowed. “But they’ve been gone for a long time now. Driven off by an absolutely relentless pack of raiders, if my memory banks haven’t corrupted since then.”

Allison nodded. “Does that mean there’s a serious raider threat nearby?”

“That’s just the thing, mum: there’s not a hint of anyone for at least a solid mile and a half. Save about a mile east, but they’re a lovely couple. No, there’s nothing to worry about, mum. We’re quite safe here,” he explained.

“Good,” she affirmed. She stayed there, clearly deep in rumination. After a long period marked by the frequent sound of gulping, Cait peeping at her from the corner of her eye all the while, Allison shook her head and waltzed over to the stool. As she assumed her seat, legs swinging up and over, Cait noticed how Allison scooted closer to Cait. The distance was near imperceptible, but Cait’s fascination was fixed solely on Allison in that moment.

“There anything you need help on, Codsworth? Any projects you’ve yet to finish? Or start?” Allison questioned.

Cait glanced over at Allison, who explained, “We’re staying here for the night, but night is still pretty far off.”

Codsworth pondered on that. “Unless there are any modifications to the house you would like to add, I believe I’ve accomplished everything I wished to accomplish.”

Allison nodded, glancing at Cait’s beer. “I think I’ll have one of those, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly, mum-.”

The bottle, still with a decent amount of the bitter liquor swimming inside it, was sent sliding toward Allison. Cait explained, “Take it. Don’t really feel like finishin’ it off.”

That was a lie, and Allison likely knew that, based on the quirk of her eyebrow, but she made no comment. Then it was bottoms-up, and most of the liquor disappeared down Allison’s gullet. The second the bottle hit the starry granite counter, Codsworth’s sneaky pincher snatched it up.

Allison pulled away from the bar. “I’ll be in my room.” With relaxed strides, she sauntered away to her destination.

A thought occurred to Cait, so she called out after her, “Oi, where am I sleepin’ tonight?”

Allison halted. “Hey Codsworth, do we by chance have a spare mattress?”

“I’m afraid not, mum. Unless Miss Cait wouldn’t mind spending the night in the shelter…?” He trailed off under Cait’s death glare. Sure, her room at the Combat Zone had nestled beneath the stage in a secret compartment, but that one was filthy. She would NOT sleep in a cramped cavern again, as long as an alternative option was present. “Ah, that’s about what I thought.”

“Then where are you gonna sleep?” Allison queried.

Cait huffed, searching around the room. “Fock it. I’ll take the couch.”

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait awoke from the comfiest couch she’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping on in a cold, cold sweat. Her heart was hammering so hard each pulse physically hurt her ribcage. Her lungs locked up, and when she opened her mouth to scream, she couldn’t even suck in a mouthful of air, let alone cry for help. A sticky, thick sheen of sweat covered her skin and literally soaked the clothes she slept in, and when she desperately scrabbled at the table to keep herself from tumbling over the edge, her hand was so coated in perspiration that she couldn’t gain a decent grasp. Flopping on the floor like a fish out of water, hands clawing so hard at her throat and chest that blood dripped idly from the wounds her nails left, she crawled toward her backpack. She knew what she needed: the only thing that paradoxically calmed her.

But she couldn’t take it here, out in the open. Oh no, no no no no no, that would be terrible idea. They might see her for what she was if she were to shoot up here. And so, more concerned with Allison witnessing her in such a sorry state than with living, she set an unsteady course toward the bathroom.

With all four appendages seemingly out of commission, the effort required to reach her backpack, attempt to unclasp the strap keeping it closed, and finally surrendering and taking the whole backpack along with her was amplified tenfold. Now on her hands and knees, she awkwardly stumbled toward the bathroom, a terrified, breathless expression plastered on a face dripping with sweat.

Through some miracle she’d made it. She slammed the door closed- correction: she feebly, just barely managed to shut the divider that she believed would keep her safe. The pack still wouldn’t open, so with almost all the energy she could muster, she ripped the thing open. Stitches tore and leather was shredded, and in her state of wild, unthinkable panic, the pack was knocked over by her uncoordinated flailing, spilling trinkets and ammo and bottles and Psycho.

Her vision was going: her panic attack was winning, and she hadn’t the slightest clue of how to fight it without liquid assistance. So after repeated failed attempts, bloody fingers clutched at the thick, black vial and using pearly whites, the cap was twisted and the needle was revealed, glimmering with sinful promise.

She attempted to use precision and accuracy, but when the tip shook so badly she feared she’d miss her own goddamn arm, she stabbed randomly.

It worked; sort of. She could inhale in short little spurts, but it wasn’t enough to drag her from the edge of the abyss of unconsciousness.

Trembling digits grabbed at a second, stabbing her own arm so forcefully she recoiled in surprise. Oxygen was finally reaching her brain, but there was that one, small bit left, like a piece of concentrated anxiety still clogged her esophagus, still played the wicked looped footage over and over and over in her mind’s eye until she needed, _needed_ more to survive through this one last bit of agony.

A quivering hand, opposite from the last because her left arm ached so badly, seized another.

Finally, she could breathe easily. Her pores ceased their insufferable perspiring, and she mostly possessed total motor control over her arms and legs. Still, she wasn’t satisfied; fear still lingered in the depths of her soul, and she wouldn’t stop, _couldn’t_ stop until all of it was gone.

Cait had just endured a typical nightmare. This one, as always, involved the terrible violence of her father and the scathing, dismissive words of her equally-as-manipulative mother. There was a lead pipe, something about being strangled with a chain, and finished with her mother letting her drown in a bathtub, but the exact details were thankfully sketchy. Recalling any part of the dream rekindled the freezing flames of fear, and hysteria began to tug at the corners of her sanity.

She knew it was a horrible idea, but she needed it. Needed a fourth vial.

And for a second, she thought herself correct. Liquid euphoria rushed to her brain and her heart, her spirits elevating and her outlook on life lightening up. She moaned in ecstasy, not caring about anyone overhearing.

But the high lasted for only a few seconds. She realized what she’d just done with dawning horror and plummeting self-esteem. _Four_ vials? She’d considered three too much, but now she’d set a new record. She knew what would happen next, but she didn’t know the scale.

Cait wasn’t disappointed.

Like a shot to the gut, instant agony erupted in her abdomen. She keeled over, hands slipping beneath the lid of the toilet. This would be bad. No sooner had she popped the top up and darted to the toilet did a stream of thick, chunky vomit intermixed with blood splatter and stain the ivory bowl. At the finish of the first, startlingly long segment, through which she couldn’t breathe at all, slapping the porcelain rim in an angry panic when the disgusting liquid still continued to spout, she vomited again. There was more blood this time, crimson mingling with beige, and it hurt, oh God it hurt _so much_.

Then, like someone had struck a match in a corridor filled with gasoline, a fire sparked in her veins. Roaring agony filled every crevice, every crack, and she screeched through columns of puke. Now she was expelling pure blood through her mouth, spraying the lid and the seat and coating her lips and her chin, dripping through her nostrils. Every second was pain. Pure, unadulterated pain scored through her stomach, up her throat like red hot pins, and filling her mouth with acid.

Tears stained her cheeks; God, it hurt so fucking much. As her fingers clutched and slammed against the toilet rim, growing feebler by the second, the streams through her mouth began to peter out. The fire in her veins was growing greater, though, stealing her breath with its intensity. Lava seared every nerve ending, scorching her skin, her bones, her fingers, her toes, her brain.

“Help,” she mumbled weakly through sobs.

Why did it hurt so much?! She looked down at her arms...

Giant, black bugs with evil, despicable pinchers flourished from her wrists, and everywhere they crawled felt like her arteries were carrying razor blades straight from a scorching forge. She panicked; she had to get them out _now_. Red sludge continued to push up through her throat and through her grit teeth in large, viscous amounts, oozing over her forearms.

She scratched hard and fast at her arms, scoring deep, scraping out chunks of flesh as she did so. But no matter how deep she went, blood running in waves from her arms, they burrowed deeper still, setting alight her bones and tendons, practically paralyzing her.

“Help!” she tried again, this time louder and more noticeable, throatier.

They were spreading, digging up through the pock-marked bruises of her elbows and shoulders where she’d injected the serum. She followed them, trying to cease their torturous path by cutting them off. It didn’t work, and higher still they climbed. Her fingers were caked in her own blood, peelings of skin falling to the floor. Screams of torment emanated between pained wheezes and tears flowed and flowed as the bugs traveled up her shoulder, over her collarbone, up her neck, and-.

“ _SOMEBODY, HELP ME! PLEASE!_ ” she screeched.

But no one came.

-The Hellspawns invaded her head, seething through her cheeks, tunneling into her eyes and boring into her skull. Fingernails continued to scratch and scratch and scratch, vainly trying to drive out the invaders, but nothing was working. She was going to die, eaten by bugs from the inside out.

And then they stopped.

Just an illusion brought on by the chems, she realized too late as she gazed upon her fingers obscured by her own life force. The small, but steady trail seeping from her nose and mouth stopped painting the bathroom floor many different, darker hues of scarlet. Her gut ached and she became incredibly scared about what she looked like right now. With as much flesh as she’d scraped off, the extreme part of her convinced her that she probably resembled a ghoul.

A stimpack. She needed a stimpack. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate, so she had to slide herself along the floor, smearing blood and piss in her wake as she groped toward the medicine cabinet. Using her arms alone, she strained to keep a sturdy purchase as she hoisted her upper body onto the sink, spreading repulsing crimson on the mirror as she threw it open.

Two stimpacks, two glorious stimpacks preserved in a case sat on the bottom shelf. She reached out, but in doing so, she lost her support and tumbled to the floor, her head smacking the tile hard. That was okay though; she grasped the box in a single hand, and she smashed the case into the ground. Her body largely motionless, laying on her back, she inject the first of the medicinal syringes.

The contents were smooth and cool in her ravaged veins and arteries. Cait had stumbled upon luck on this occasion; she sincerely doubted she would’ve survived the withdrawal if Codsworth hadn’t been prudent with the pharmaceuticals in the medicine cabinet. Most of the pain disappeared in the span of a few minutes, but she still cried.

She was such a pathetic, worthless mess. How low had she fallen? Low enough to shoot up in her best friend’s bathroom, effectively trashing the room in the process.

What would Allison think of her now? Honestly, Allison should be the least of her worries, but nowadays, Cait’s mind always seemed to wander to the mysterious, attractive redhead, whether she like it or not.

Cait had a serious problem. She’d known this for a long, long time, but she hadn’t _known_ it until her dependency had almost killed her just then. She’d tottered precariously over the chasm of death, ignorantly placing getting her fix over her personal safety. Was this what they called rock bottom? Prone on the blood soaked floor of the house of the one person that tolerated her aggressive personality? The tile floor certainly felt like rock.

Cait needed help. Cait needed help _now_. She’d refrained from involving others for as long as possible for a variety of lies that she’d convinced herself were truths. That the doctors had deemed her a lost cause. That she’d have nothing to numb the pain. That she’d never had anyone to turn to. But Psycho was killing her. Gradually, stealing her energy, stealing her patience. If Cait couldn’t figure a plan, if she didn’t ask for help, she would die. She realized this as she memorized the grooves and gutters of the ceiling.

Allison would help her. Allison would have to help her, or all that Cait had suffered for would all be for naught. From Cait’s understanding, a tight bond of unknown strength tethered the duo together. The time had arrived for Cait to test the strength of that tether and find out if it would prove a viable means of escape or if it would snap and send her plummeting into the bowels of darkness below her.

A grumble muttered through her clenched teeth as she hoisted herself upright. She glared around the room at the slippery red she’d bestowed upon the otherwise immaculate bathroom floor. Concluding she would clean up later, she stripped naked, as blood and puke permeated every piece of cloth on her body, and walked on rickety legs toward the sink. She snagged a towel from the rack, a pang of guilt striking her as she ruined the white, fluffy cloth. Cait doused the towel and scrubbed herself clean, appreciating indoor plumbing more than she’d appreciated most things in life.

She’d nearly ripped her backpack in two, but the majority of the contents remained untouched, including fresh clothes. Smelling better than ever before, she exited the crime scene and began her investigation as to why neither Allison nor Codsworth had detected her pleas.

Allison’s room was empty, and Codsworth was nowhere to be seen. Dogmeat had vanished as well, and her bewilderment ceased as she spied a note on the counter. The paper with typed lettering read:

‘ _Miss Cait,_

_Good morning, ma’am! It appears everyone is out of the house at the moment. I am away collecting resources from the nearby town of Concord, and Miss Allison has transmitted directions to her current coordinates that I shall now give to you. Help yourself to the fridge for breakfast or wait until I return._

_Sincerely, Codsworth_ ’

Cait picked up the note and headed out.

 

**ooooo**

 

The blackened ground of the dead meadow was entirely obscured by a vast ocean of knee-high, yellow grass. The blanket murmured and hissed and billowed in a dry wind, as if it possessed a mind of its own, and the soft glow of morning sunlight washed the quilt of golden, swaying strands. Surrounding this meadow loomed a dense forest, charred, twisted limbs creating a thicket that only allowed slivers of sunlight and casting a dark shade upon a large portion of the ground. Here and there, winding paths of concrete split the waves like Moses parting the Red Sea, traveling in wide, lazy circles. Far away, near the other end of the clearing, rusted monkey bars brooded and creaking swings pitched to and fro, mourning the loss of the giggly tykes that once clambered on their sorrowful frames. And in the middle of this field, a hill rose skyward, tall but not too tall. All was absolutely quiet.

Except… There. A melodious, silvery voice crooned a sad, sweet tune into the grey, cloudy atmosphere, as alluring and harmonious as a siren’s call. Singing.

‘ _~You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are grey_

_You’ll never know dear, how much I love you_

_Please don’t take my sunshine away.~_ ’

Cait’s eyes studied every detail of the clearing until she identified the source: a shock of red atop the summit of the hill. Her feet carried her autonomously toward the person.

‘ _~In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me_

_When I awake my poor heart pains_

_So when you come back and make me happy_

_I’ll forgive you dear, I’ll take all the blame.~_ ’

Cait had arrived. Allison sat on her haunches with her elbows resting on her knees, wearing a simple, white tank top that exposed muscular arms and the same jeans from yesterday. Her scarlet tresses flowed freely, and her pale flesh and clothes were scrubbed with dirt and grime. Dogmeat lay beside her, his flank rubbing into Allison’s pants, his head perked straight up as well as his ears. Both stared intently at a painted white cross constructed from boards sticking from a lengthy mound of fresh dirt in front of them. As Cait neared, an inscription cut into the board read, “NATE, TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD”.

‘ _~You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are grey_

_You’ll never know dear, how much I love you_

_Please don’t take my sunshine away.~_ ’

Then, quieter, a few seconds delayed:

‘ _~Please don’t take my sunshine away…~_ ’

Allison was silent. Neither Dogmeat nor Allison stirred as Cait lowered herself onto the ground left of Allison. Their shoulders touched ever so slightly, sparks igniting every time their skin contacted lightly. Cait stared at the grave marker with the others, though her attention was actually completely transfixed on the grieving woman beside her.

It was Allison that spoke first, faint and melancholy.

“Nate used to love this place.”

Cait hesitantly gestured toward the cross. “That him?”

“What do you think?” It wasn’t angry, or even mildly spiteful. Instead it was tired, bone tired, and drained. Drained of energy and happiness. Drained of spirit and soul. Drained of everything until only, apathetic, grey nothing remained.

Nevertheless, Cait still apologized, “Sorry.”

There was silence. No one’s gaze had broken from the cross.

Then Allison, nostalgic, “You should’ve seen this place in its prime.”

“I bet it would’ve been gorgeous.”

“It was. The lawn was green, and the whole place smelled like fresh cut grass because the caretakers mowed it so often. There were never very many people, but there were always people. Usually little kids playing tag and playing on the playground,” she explained, distant.

Cait had no response to that. There was more silence, the wind grazing the grass and tickling Cait’s nose.

Allison spoke again, lost, brow furrowed. “I thought burying him would bring me closure. Or comfort. Or something good, at least.”

Cait noticed the shovel and the blanket she’d used to drag the body for hiding in the grass. “Did it?”

Allison nodded for a little while. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it did. But- but now I’m sadder than I was before and I don’t know why. I feel… empty, kind of. Not quite, but something like it.”

Cait bowed her head, embarrassed. “I… wouldn’t really know anythin’ about that. I’ve never… What I’m tryin’ ta say is I’ve never…”

A slightly amused exhale of breath from her nose. “You’ve never been close enough to someone to experience grief?”

Cait sheepishly nodded her head.

Then Allison scooted closer, leaned in and turned her head so her forehead nuzzled comfortably into Cait’s temple.

“Well, you have one now.”

The words whispered were delicious in her ear, though that wasn’t Allison’s intention, and Cait’s pulse spiked, her throat possessing all the water in the Sahara Desert, and her breathing became much louder and much more labored to keep pace with her heart. Cait waited for Allison to retreat, but thankfully, horrifyingly, she didn’t, and her proximity continued to do terrible, wonderful things to her.

The words were finally understood, and they served to bolster her confidence. There would be no more secrets.

“I need ta… I need ta tell ya somethin’.” Breathy and stuttering.

“Anything for you, Cait.” Even, traces of sorrow still present, but mostly warmth.

Taken aback by the kindness, she regathered her completely derailed train of thought. “I need… help,” she forced the words out of her mouth, then repeated in a more urgent tone, “I really need yer help.”

“What do you need?” Allison queried with concern, her head still resting on hers.

“Can I trust ya ta keep this a secret?” but she already knew the answer.

“Of course, Cait. Anything.”

That soothed her, but not by enough. “I’m… sick. I can’t hide it from ya anymore. I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared, Cait?” Allison nuzzled further, as if to comfort her.

“I’m scared that you’ll hate me when I tell ya the truth,” Cait murmured, frightened unnecessarily at the possibility.

“You won’t lose me, Cait. I know you well enough that nothing you could say would drive me away.”

“Okay… I believe you.” Cait inhaled a shaky breath. This was it. “Ever since I left home, I’ve been usin’ Psycho.” She wait for a response.

To her surprise, she received a chortle. “I know.”

Allison’s response was both a relief and a shock. “Y-Ya knew?” she spluttered.

“Mm hmm,” Allison hummed. Fingers grazed the bumps and injection sites of her other arm, startling Cait with Allison’s tenderness. “You’re terrible at being sneaky, you know.”

At the revelation, everything erupted from Cait at once. All of her frustrations with her inability to quit, the stress of keeping such a huge secret under wraps, and the fact that she wasn’t nearly as independent as she’d prided herself to be were all present as tears began to well in her eyes.

“I-I don’t know why I keep usin’ this Shite, but I-I can’t- I can’t stop usin’ it! I-it’s just sometimes I get all caught up in mopin’ about me past, a-and Psycho’s the only thin’ that makes the- the pain go away, and I-I’ve tried ta stop, I really have, but it’s just- it’s just that- that- that-!”

“Shhhh, Cait,” Allison shushed her, the hand on her arm squeezed her close into a gentle, one-armed embrace. “Shhhh. It’s okay, Cait. I understand.”

Cait calmed almost instantly, sniffling and wiping a nostril with the rear of her palm. “You do?”

“Yes, I do, Cait.” A regretful sigh. “I suppose I have something to say as well.”

“W-What?”

Allison’s other hand snaked over her lap and closed around Cait’s right wrist. Gently, she guided the smaller hand underneath Allison’s left elbow, implying that Cait grab a hold. She complied, confused, but understood the instant her fingers twitched. In disbelieving awe, the pads of her fingers examined the multitudinous indents, holes, and raised ridges grafted onto Allison. Cait’s other hand reached over and stroked Allison’s flesh, which shivered at the contact. She understood the message, but she needed confirmation.

“You think you’re the only one trying to bury their past under a pile of chems?” Allison whispered.

Cait recalled every interaction in perfect detail, realizing that this discovery filled in odd gaps and explained queer events. The segments of their journeys where Allison wasn’t quite herself. How erratic Allison’s combat performance was; sometimes Allison was queen of the battlefield, whereas others she slogged behind and barely managed to sprint twenty feet. The frequent occasions where Allison would wish Cait away to complete some arbitrary goal so that Allison could be alone.

“I don’t wear long sleeves and sunglasses because I’m afraid of showing skin. I’m afraid of someone noticing the scars and writing me off as some junkie with her head in the clouds.”

Cait’s hand darted to firmly grasp the nape of Allison’s neck. With more force than she meant to apply, she raised Allison’s head, who grunted at the unanticipated movement. Cait stared deeply into those unparalleled green irises, or more specifically around those unparalleled green irises at the red, veiny whites and at the flushed, raw bags beneath the eyes. Allison wasn’t lying.

Once Cait had removed her grip, Allison asked, “Believe me now?”

Now she stared at the irises, at the eyes that were so much like hers in their tenacious fatigue and their muted cry for help now that she thought about it.

Cait nodded. She wanted to slap herself for not interpreting the clues sooner. “Sorry, I just- I didn’t know, was all.”

“That’s okay.”

Silence. The sky continued to hide behind a bank of gunmetal clouds and the field continued to undulate around them. The trees continued to skulk and the swings far away continued to creak and sway. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but Cait leaned and relaxed onto Allison’s shoulder, nudging further into her companion until the steady tempo of the rise and fall of Allison’s shoulder didn’t dig into her temple. Soon after, a cheek rested on her head, rubbing slowly and burrowing into straggly-yet-comfortable, red locks. Her bangs were pleasantly displaced with every hot breath, spindly tresses dangling in front of her vision.

Cait preferred not to raise either of their hopes only to have them dashed, but then again, this plan of hers, this final opportunity to rid herself of her addiction, had been her only hope since the beginning. And by the sound of it, Allison could use it too.

Cait sighed contentedly as their fingers gradually intertwined. Yes, Allison had to know. Cait wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she were to ditch Allison and chase what was likely a fantasy story created by struggling druggies. Allison needed this too, and it dawned on Cait then and there that she needed Allison.

She cleared her throat.

“I’ve got a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me, it would make sense if Codsworth were to return to his duties if he knew the Sole Survivor were still alive, so I improvised. Please leave a comment and all that jazz, and thanks for reading!


	6. Sobering Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to thank everyone who's supported this story so far! If I'm reading the results right, there aren't very many of you, but nevertheless I'll continue the story for all you guys that want me to. Please leave a comment and enjoy!

Vault 95 was littered with corpses, but these weren’t two hundred and ten years old; these men and women died minutes ago. A sparking, whirring mess, the turrets overlooking the vault door were exploded, slivers of their chrome shell impaling the mucky earth. Two shut down, bullet ridden husks that were once cloaked Assaultrons joined their stationary counterparts, their orange eyes flickering, their torsos and what appendages they still existed occasionally shimmering from view in the thick, cottony fog they’d met their end in.

Deeper into the vault, down corridors spattered with ribbons of blood, crimson flecks reflecting the blinding white of the fluorescent floodlights fixed to the ceiling above, more bodies, _human_ bodies, lay dead. Propped against walls, dangling over railings, or drowning in puddles of their own fluids on the cold, steel floor, sturdily-built men and women began the decomposition process, slowed because of the temperature and the dampness of the air. Their pieces of light green, ballistic plating were pocked with bullet holes of varying diameters and some were completely obliterated by buckshot, while a few others clutched at ripped jugulars post mortem, horrified expressions plastered over their faces. Brass and empty, yellow fusion cells sprinkled the floor and the gory cadavers like morbid cupcakes, glinting and highlighting silhouettes. There were no screams of the dying because there were none; the wanderers responsible for this chaos very thoroughly ensured the carnage consisted of only carnage.

The attackers in question walked deep in the bowels of the dank, dingy vault where windows were caked in grime and the air smelled of wet dirt and unbathed mercenaries. In front of the door to their salvation, they stood, crafting a plan to clear this final area.

The rest hadn’t been easy in the slightest; their enemies’ body armor proved effective in stopping her 5.56 mm rounds, never mind her 10 mms, and the only weapon she carried that could penetrate was her 10 gage double-barrel, a weapon so loud she almost deafened herself and her companions with every shot. And to top it off, two of the crew were suffering from withdrawals, their hands stuttering so viciously they wondered how they’d made it this far with such terrible accuracy.

Allison could hear their nervous taunting from behind the massive sliding chunk of metal.

“Come on out! I dare ya!” a man shouted, but she could detect the tremor in his voice. She could hear another, a female voice, attempt to shush him. She could also detect the chugging of a turret spitting out exhaust. So that made at least two, with an automated sentry somewhere in the room.

In situations such as these, she preferred to lob a grenade and enter during the confusion and panic, but she couldn’t risk harming the equipment. This would be tricky.

She wiped her uncovered brow with her coatless hand- constant cold sweats were a miserable, awful thing-, sticky perspiration sheening her forehead and clinging her tresses together in a stringy, disgusting mess. The whites of her eyes were infected with red, and her gait appeared too tired for someone of her age and build. In short, she looked every bit the part of a struggling addict, and when she threw a glance backwards she saw a very similar looking Cait clutching her shotgun with trembling hands.

Allison’s finger was so coated in sweat part of her worried she wouldn’t be able to properly pull the trigger. But she had to persevere and win this, for Shaun if not for herself. This was all for him, in the end.

She annexed herself closely, face first, into the left corner between the small ridge of the frame that held the door and the railing of the short walkway leading to the room, signaling for Cait and Dogmeat to do the same. Gripping the double barrel in her clammy right hand, she hovered her other over the panel that would open the gate to freedom.

Three fingers raised for all to see.

Cait nodded, and posted up, Dogmeat right behind her.

Two fingers. She flicked the release lever, ensured the two shells were live, then snapped the break closed.

One finger. She breathed deeply.

“…Think they’re gone?” the man’s voice mumbled.

A fist with no fingers, and she slammed the button. Air hissed trough the broken air-tight seal as the pistons vanished the door from view. Weapon nested solidly into her shoulder, she leaned her upper body just enough to peek around the corner, shotgun aimed and ready.

Immediate, booming gunfire forced Allison to retreat back into the corner. Her ears rung with every discharge, bullets slamming loudly into the other side of the wall and whizzing through the doorway to violently speckle the corridor behind the duo. Multiple calibers ricocheted from the steel, boring holes in empty metal crates, burrowing into cracked panes of glass, and erupting into orange sparks as they shattered the light fixtures above. All members of the party crowded the corners, covering their aching eardrums and flinching every time lead zoomed just a little too close for comfort.

Then the gunfire ceased.

Footsteps, and then a woman with poorly cut, short, brown hair emerged from the doorway, layers of polymer covering everything but her arms and her young face marred by scars and dreadful panic. On her right hand, she wore a sickly yellow gauntlet, pistons and rubber hoses and torqued metal forming a power fist, and on her head she wore a fierce expression of defiance and the survivor’s rage only seen on cornered animals.

Those furious eyes locked onto the nearest, visible target: Cait who was scrambling to create distance. A last minute idea prompted Allison to smack the button again, closing the door and stealing a brief moment where no one had to worry about catching a stray bullet.

Cait stepped backwards, the merc still advancing and winding up to smother Cait’s brains over the floor. A report of a shotgun later, and the winded gunner whose chest protection had saved her bust from resembling the guts of a pomegranate fruit wobbled backwards- right into Allison’s waiting arms.

Allison struck the base of the woman’s skull with an open palm, and though Allison was weakened by withdrawal, her brute strength still packed enough of a punch to make the Gunner stutter. She grappled at the cloth at the rear of her neck to control her, and promptly kicked out the Gunner’s knee from behind to ensure she wouldn’t weasel out of the headlock she wrapped her in. She leaned back, applying more and more pressure twisting on the screeching Gunner’s neck until- slowly, painfully, the Gunner’s spine could twist no more and her vertebrae crunched audibly as they shattered in her neck.

Allison discarded the limp body, ducking back behind cover as the door unexpectedly opened and more bullets forced them all to hide. From what she could tell, there remained only one man and a sentry turret, and she hatched a plan to overtake the last defenses.

She waited patiently, Dogmeat at her heel, for the sentry turret’s break in between bursts of firing, as the presumed final man in the room was either dry of ammunition or had decided not to dump truck every bullet in his possession into a stationary wall.

The barrage ceased, and as soon as she could move her groggy feet, she rushed the room.

Turns out the last man had the same idea. She was taller, as usual, but she didn’t appear to be, seeing as he was outfitted with a full suit of combat armor, a sleek helmet lending him the extra inch-and-a-half.

They were literally almost touching when Allison finally reacted. There was no time, space, or coordination in her limbs for her to do anything fancy so she rammed him with all of her bodyweight plus everything in her stuffed backpack. He stumbled backward, his ass colliding with a rusted steel desk, scrabbling to regain his balance.

An explosion to her left notified her that Cait had managed to destroy the sentry, and the boom of the humming capsule burst into flames and spewed thick, choking smoke into the cramped quarters.

Allison returned her focus to the Gunner desperately attempting to raise his rifle and fire at her, and before the muzzle could intrude upon her silhouette she batted the oversized barrel away from her, stepping in and sharply striking the man’s face with the butt of her shotgun. He yelped, off hand instantly darting to protect his nose while his squinted vision was obscured by tears.

Allison pressed the gun lengthwise into his shoulders, simultaneously placing her right leg behind his knee, and shoved downward and leftward. The crease of his knee caught on the outstretched leg, and instead of falling backwards, he tripped and two-hundred-fifty-something pounds smacked against the metal floor. Though a helmet protected his ugly mug, the concussive force as his head hit the ground was still enough to thoroughly daze him, and as he stared upward into two smooth barrels, he didn’t even have the presence of mind to beg.

Allison pulled the trigger. His head didn’t explode like the turret, even with such a large caliber entering his head at such a high velocity; instead, his forehead smooshed and sort of caved in as his brains splattered through the gaping opening torn through the rear of his scalp against the freezing cold steel. Almost as if his head had been crushed in an industrial press, as if the intricately designed cranium of bone that supported the flesh of his face simply gave in to the weight. Allison’s obsession with the shape of the dead man’s skull was likely unhealthy but her mind tended to wander when under great stress.

Her ears droned painfully, loudly, and so she didn’t notice when someone called her name until a hand carefully squeezed her shoulder. She pivoted to witness an annoyed, yet concerned Cait trying to communicate. She shook her head, clearing her mind.

Allison turned, surveying everything in the room. This was more spacious than most, resembling an infirmary. There were a few examination tables lining the right wall, rusted and overturned with their IV bags still swaying on their stands in an absent breeze. There were discarded pinchers, broken scissors, shattered dentist’s mirrors, thermometers leaking mercury, and other medical equipment dispersed over the checkered floor and stowed in open cabinets. There were old X-ray prints glowing billboard displaying cross sections of shriveled lungs, grainy hearts, splintered femurs, and other battered internal organs.

And there in the back, cordoned off from the rest in its own room with a window peering in, sat their goal.

Cait already loomed motionless before the window, staring in with her arms crossed pensively over her chest. She gave no indication of noticing Allison’s footsteps as she cautiously approached from behind and eventually halted beside her, aware that their shoulders hovered millimeters away from each other.

Inside this back room was mostly normal, with dented tables and empty shelves save for litter, the floor obscured by debris. All except this single, reclined chair that was centered facing the onlookers. Attention could only be brought to this chair because of the spotlight glaring bright, white light, captivating everyone with its malign starkness. This chair was padded, but it didn’t appear comfortable, with retractable cuffs at the ankles and wrists to restrain thrashing patients. At the throat of this chair, between the head rest and the back, skulked two cylindrical, wicked apparatuses. From two motors facing inward toward the person who would cower in this chair protruded two glinting, startlingly thick drill bits. They were so thick, in fact, that Allison entertained the thought that the Gunners had tampered with the device, but a quick glance at a diagram of the machine pasted on the back wall confirmed that the size was not a mistake.

There was something sinister about this chair, the way it brooded in the open light as if it wanted nothing more than to scurry from the spotlight it was rooted under. Like it was flinching away from the purifying light of day and yearning to prowl among the other dastardly abominations. Those drill bits… didn’t look right; they looked too painful, too egregiously designed to cause damage to ever be helpful to anyone.

Cait seemed to see this, or maybe she saw something else, because all the enthusiasm that powered her all throughout their long trek down south had disappeared. Now, there was only hesitation.

Dogmeat sensed his master’s insecurity, and rubbed his flank on her leg. When she glanced down, he whined, staring up with glassy eyes too full of empathy for a creature that barked at its own tail.

Allison averted her gaze so she could eye Cait from the corner of her vision, who looked uneasy.

“We made it,” Allison attempted to spur conversation.

Cait nodded distantly.

Allison brushed her knuckles against Cait’s. “Cait, you okay?”

Obviously startled by the contact, Cait covered it up poorly by clearing her throat and shifting on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, yeah. I just-. The answer ta me problems is starin’ me smack in the face and I’m not sure I want it anymore.”

“Why not?”

A shaky breath. Eyes glazed over. Body embraced fully by the paralyzing touch of fear.

“There were reasons I took Psycho, dulled the pain.” She swallowed, meekly adding, “Reasons I don’t wanna face.”

“If we don’t do this now, Cait, we’ll die. And then there won’t be anyone to face anything.”

“I know that! But-!” Cait looked over to Allison now, troubled and torn to pieces by anxiety. “But what if I open me eyes and I don’t like what I see? What then?”

Allison’s fingers slithered to intertwine with Cait’s, and the scrawnier of the two’s breath hitched. “I like what I see, Cait. What makes you think you won’t?”

Another obnoxious clearing of the throat, and Cait stammered, “Oh… uh… Ya do? Never mind, don’t answer that.” Allison’s nerves soothed at the image of jumpy, nervous Cait with rosy red cheeks as the palm clasped in her hand grew just a little bit hotter.

“Answer me, Cait. What makes you think you won’t?” Allison requested. “What can’t you face?”

Cait, flustered, threw up her shoulders in resignation. Exasperated, she sighed, “I don’t bloody know! How ‘bout how I can’t go a day without drinkin’ meself unconscious? Or how I take out all me stress and anger on others?”

Cait had released her hand, but Allison didn’t mind; Cait clearly needed to vent, however she considered her companion’s choice in timing was questionable. That was okay, though; anything for Cait.

“Or how I’m not even a decent excuse for a human bein’ unless I’ve got shit coursin’ through me veins? Or how I make me problems worse than they need ta be because I’m not even responsible enough to look after just meself?” Cait’s breath came faster, hands clenching in anger, voice breaking gradually. “How ‘bout how I wake up every fockin’ mornin’ with me heart poundin’ from me chest because I can’t forget how me own pa would strangle me when me dumb arse couldn’t even twist the cap off a bottle? Huh?”

Allison suddenly started to see what made this woman tick as her face invaded hers. Or rather, what ground the gears to a halt.

“How ‘bout how I’d almost had me throat slit because I couldn’t do somethin’ as simple as shuckin’ corn from the field?”

“Cait-,” but Cait cut her off.

Face flushed, pulse racing. “-Or how I had me fingers broke when I couldn’t pick the carrots by nightfall?”

“Cait-.”

Volume increasing, panic beginning to show. “-Or how they’d put out their cigarette butts on me arse when I couldn’t just follow simple fockin’ instructions and do what they wanted me ta do, like a good little girl?!”

“Cait, honey-.”

Voice cracking, sheer, self-loathing hopelessness rearing its head.

She paced back and forth now, furiously kicking up papers, trembling as violently as her hands grasped and flailed at the stale, tense air in frustration. “- O-or how I wouldn’t get food every night because I didn’t shine his fockin’ shoes well enough?!”

“Cait-!”

An awful mix of terror and resentment and angst. “Or how he never once in his miserable, drunken fockin’ existence, never _once_ did he wish me a goodnight’s sleep!”

“Butterfly-!”

Shouting to try and drown out the guilt, but it didn’t work. “Or _how they didn’t even give me a fockin’ goodbye when they sold me like a slab of meat-!_ ”

Cait accidentally stumbled into a stray examination table, and that one inconvenience sent her over the edge. Screaming, she clamped down on the table and with all of her might, flung the offender to the other side of the room.

Except the table only skittered a few inches and didn’t even topple over, and that just pissed Cait off even more.

Her screeching causing Dogmeat to cower to the floor at Allison’s side, Cait mercilessly kicked at the metal monstrosity, attempting to beat the thing into submission.

“ _\- Stupid, fockin’ waste of fockin’ skin, piece of fockin’-!_ ” But Allison wasn’t so sure she was talking about her parents.

Allison finally decided to intervene when it became clear Cait wouldn’t fix herself, grappling around Cait and lifting the crazed redhead from the ground, her legs kicking at stale air.

“Cait!”

Still nothing, so with powerful arms she turned Cait around in her grasp holding her close. Cait resisted still, so she placed a hand on either side of Cait’s thrashing face and waited for her to calm. Tears streaming down pale cheeks and scrunched lip quivering, Cait appeared so heartbreakingly confused and lost and frustrated all at once.

“Cait.”

Cait said nothing, just stared up at her. Allison recognized that look. Nate had worn it sometimes after he’d returned from his tour in China. It was a silent, desperate plea for help, for anything that could soothe or explain why she felt this way about herself. It was the unsaid admission of guilt, of fear, of thoroughly hating everything she was.

So, as with Nate, she gave Cait exactly what she needed. Her hands retreated to Cait’s back, wrapping around and pulling her in tightly, her lips to Cait’s ear. She stayed that way until Cait’s hands mirrored hers, until she felt a head rest against her shoulder, however tentatively.

“None of this is your fault, Cait.”

Cait stiffened but didn’t back away.

“This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything.”

A slight tremor racked Cait’s body, so slight Allison almost didn’t detect it.

“It’s their fault, Cait. Not yours. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

Dry heaving. Cait was still trying to hold it in.

She buried her lips into Cait’s neck and whispered, “It’s not your fault.”

Years of frustration exploded in a sudden pained sob, and Cait’s head burrowed deeply into Allison’s neck. Her shoulders heaved and she clutched desperately at Allison’s back, tears staining her clothes as her cries were muffled as she held on to everything she held dear. Allison’s fingers threaded gently through Cait’s hair, untangling knots and massaging her convulsing scalp, and her other hand continued to pull Cait in, rocking them to and fro in slow, lulling arcs. Allison refused to abandon Cait in this time of her greatest need, so she gradually lowered them to the floor where Cait rested in her lap more comfortably.

Allison pulled her in closer. “That’s it, butterfly. That’s it. Let it all out. It’s not your fault,” she murmured

Cait just cried harder, fingers scratching for a better purchase on Allison’s back even though she already possessed a plenty good hold. Cait needed this, needed her, and as every tear pooled on her shoulder she was reminded how awful Cait’s parents really were, how strenuous the life of an ex-slave must be in this lonely world of theirs. She could understand why Cait resorted to “outside help” to quell her inner torment, and frankly Allison was amazed Cait managed so well. Sure, she was an emotional train wreck with problems up the wazoo, but she hid it pretty well, all things considered.

“It’s gonna be okay. It’s not your fault, you understand? It’s not your fault.”

But Cait still wept. Allison nuzzled the crook of her neck with her nose, rubbing her scalp, and cleared her throat.

“ _~You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

 _You make me happy when skies are grey.~_ ”

Cait began to relax at the silvery lyrics, her wailing diminishing but her iron grip never surrendering. Allison still hugged her closely.

“ _You’ll never know dear, how much I love you_

 _Please don’t take my sunshine away.~_ ”

Cait’s crying had ceased almost entirely, save a few gulps and shudders here and there. Her grasp had yet to yield, and Allison was pleased that Cait didn’t want to let her go. She sang just a little more, the harmonious tunes permeating through Cait’s rigid shell and softening what bit of her exterior was still left until all that remained was the real Cait, the one that Allison had grown to adore over the past months.

The Cait that was timid and shy. The Cait that flinched every time someone raised a hand too quickly. The Cait that actually smiled at something other than the mention of booze or sex. The Cait that gave a damn about something other than herself. The Cait that a couple of asshats managed to crush into a bitter, angry husk of what she could have been.

“It’s okay, Cait. I’m here. I’m here.” Dogmeat, whose presence she’d completely forgotten about, curled up around behind them, encasing Cait in a circle of comfort, shoving his wet nose into their collective laps.

“Why did they hate me?” Cait asked suddenly, so confused and frustrated and sounding so much smaller and weaker and completely, absolutely broken, but too exhausted to act on any of it. “Why didn’t they love me? I- _*sniff*_ I did everything I could! But they still hated me.”

Allison didn’t answer immediately. Survivor’s guilt was a tricky subject to talk about, never mind treat, and Cait had it especially bad. She needed comfort, and lots of it, so Allison gave her all she had.

Cait persisted in that small, puzzled tone, “Why?” Her words were muffled by Allison’s shoulder, but Allison could still hear her clearly.

“Because they were low-life scum, just like everyone else on this fucking shitshow,” Allison explained, but there was no spite in her voice, just reasoning.

“But _you_ aren’t low-life scum,” Cait mumbled, holding her tighter, nuzzling her neck, and Allison’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird in a field of jubilant green.

“And neither are you.” At that, Cait raised her head to regard Allison eye to eye. Fiery strands of hair were matted to her forehead, and Allison brushed them away.

Cait looked so vulnerable, so breakable. As she stared into Allison’s eyes, Allison regretfully choked down the urge to lean forward and claim her lips for her own as she so yearned to do; she refused to take advantage of Cait during the one moment she’d truly opened up to her. That could come later, hopefully soon, when both parties possessed a clear mind and willing souls.

Instead, Allison rested her forehead against Cait’s.

“If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me,” Allison pleaded.

A second of them gazing at each other passed, deciphering emotions and discovering deeply-hidden feelings. Cait nodded slowly. “… Okay. For you.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t stand to lose you,” Allison admitted. They rose unsteadily, Allison aiding Cait to her feet.

Before she released her, however, Allison leaned in and took a chance. The kiss placed on Cait’s cheek was experimental, and her lips stayed there for several seconds before Allison parted. Cait froze beneath her touch, palm darting to cover her cheek with her eyes wide open and staring in shock. Allison, unsure if that was the best idea ever, sheepishly dropped her arms and backed away.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Allison urged.

Cait nodded after a few moments, turned to leave, but faltered halfway to the door. Without warning, she pivoted and rapidly closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Allison’s shoulder. She stood on her tiptoes and leaned in, eyes closing partially, hesitated, but eventually placed a tender kiss on Allison’s cheek. Allison couldn’t hide a euphoric smile as Cait retreated, palm still nestled on her shoulder, and stared at her with parted lips for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, Cait scurried away to push the button on the panel, throwing one last glance in Allison’s direction before she disappeared into the room. She halted in front of the chair, eyes fixated on the object for a long period of time before she inhaled deeply, and cautiously took a seat.

Cait gazed at Allison through the glass, her head reclined, and nodded.

Still, Allison felt the need to verbally confirm. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Go ahead and flip the switch before I change me mind.”

Allison nodded. She booted up the computer, the device humming, and thankfully she didn’t need to bypass any security software. She pressed the down arrow three times until the cursor hovered over “Initiate Toxin Purge”. One last glance at Cait who was staring at her through the glass.

She thumbed the “Enter” key.

The drill bits whirred. The metal cuffs extended and strapped Cait still. Then, the cylinders converged on Cait’s neck.

Cait muffled a screech of agony through clenched teeth as the bits burrowed hilt deep into her neck, red gore and bits of flesh spurting across the floor. A trickle of blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, her fingers gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles were white with exertion.

The bits ceased their digging moments later, allowing Cait a single moment of relaxation before she tensed as the pumps began purging her body. Crimson liquid pushed through the tube connecting the bits and the wall, and Allison contemplated whether that was psycho or if it was blood.

The liquid must have been blood because scarlet transformed into a viscous, inky black in the blink of an eye. Cait whimpered, and Allison longed to rush to her side and comfort her, but she needed to keep an eye on diagnostics at the terminal; a green progress bar informed her that they were only halfway finished with the process. So instead of sprinting to hold her hand, she nervously petted Dogmeat, who appeared completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The black liquid seeping from Cait’s neck ceased, the tail of the glob vanishing into the wall panel. Then, a clear substance crawled through the tubes toward Cait, gradually pushing through until they arrived at their destination.

Cait immediately relaxed, tension disappearing the exact moment the substance was injected into her body. She moaned loudly, breathing much easier now, and relief washed through Allison. The process was nearly complete, as dictated by the unfilled sliver on the green bar onscreen.

The pumps halted, and the cylinders retracted. Blood seeped from the wounds that closed over gradually, and Cait still lay there even as the cuffs withdrew. Allison hurriedly waltzed into the room, looming patiently over the comatose Cait.

She stirred, groggily shaking her head, then hoisted herself to her feet all on her own, standing taller than she usually did.

Anxiously, Allison queried, “So...? How do you feel?”

Cait’s eyes were open, shoulders firm and wide, almost completely motionless. As if in a trance, she replied, “Different. Everythin’ feels… sharper. Better.”

“So it worked?”

“… I think so,” she mumbled in disbelief, taking several strides forward, then several strides back, surveying everything in the room. “The cravin’ is completely gone. Yeah. It worked!”

Allison analyzed the chair, examining the drill bits coated in crimson, chunks of meat lodged between each of the grooves. She winced. “You don’t happen to be contagious, do you?”

Downright offended, Cait stared at her appalled. “The fock-?! No, I’m not bloody-!” She caught sight of what Allison was looking at, realizing, “Oh. Nah, ya got nothin’ ta worry about from me. Ya still might wanna wipe it off.”

Allison stooped, rag in hand, mumbling, “Yeah, no kidding,” as she sterilized the “needles” as best she could. Tossing the ruined cloth aside, she flicked the device, studying the mechanism. Dogmeat whined down low, expressing his concern. “May as well get this over with eh?”

Cait opened her mouth to say something, but clamped it shut and sauntered confidently over to the other room. Allison clambered into the chair and stared at the ceiling. A slobbery tongue encased her fingers with drool, and without looking she scratched that spot behind his ears to calm her canine companion. Still clearly troubled, he lay his chin on her lap and huffed.

“I’ll be okay, buddy,” she reassured him.

“Alllright, I think I can handle this. Ya ready?” Cait asked from the other room, fingers levitating above the terminal in a fashion that communicated her inexperience handling computers.

A sigh. She closed her eyes and pictured Shaun.

‘ _I’m coming, baby._ ’

“Throw the switch.”

A buzz filled both her ears. Dogmeat had yet to lift his head.

Concentrated pain erupted on either side of her neck as steel that was so freezing cold, colder than cryogenic suspension, drilled into her neck, and she grunted. Allison wondered why the stupid things were so damn big; they needed access to deep in her throat, she could understand that much, but surely such a large bit was unnecessary?

Breathing became much more difficult, and soon she was gasping a bloody mist and violent compulsions seized her neck and her body. The bit kept drilling relentlessly, the pain elevating exponentially as the metal piece bullied its way deeper and deeper. If it didn’t stop soon, she wasn’t sure she could stay conscious.

And then it stopped. The two foreign objects compressed her esophagus awkwardly, but at least she could pull some air into searing lungs.

“Alli? Ya doin’ okay?!” Cait asked, mildly panicked.

Allison opened her mouth to reply, but at just that moment the needles began to pump. Her innards, along with all of her air, were painfully pulled through the tube, sloshing and slurping disgustingly. Her ligaments and tendons retracted, and she spasmed, trying to break free. It felt as if the machine were sucking out her soul.

She felt shriveled and weak when the pressure finally gave up, and she gurgled pathetically. She didn’t possess the strength to suck in air into her empty, crumpled lungs, and thus she continued to succumb to the intruding blackness covering the corners of her vision. Something scratched at her thigh and whined, something wet digging under her shirt, but she was too concentrated on staying alive.

But then a cool, liquid relief entered her veins and arteries through her bleeding neck. It soothed her dry throat, quelled her thumping heart, and roared in her eardrums. It resuscitated her lungs, and refreshing air flowed tranquilly in and out, in and out, in and out. Her fingers tingled delightfully, feeling returning to the pads of her fingertips and her toes. Strength flooded to her arms and legs, and her numbed nose could distinctly detect a coppery pang. She felt content to just lay there. The craving had vanished, that gnawing on her stomach and that headache lurking in the depths of her mind receding into nothingness.

Her recovery didn’t stop there. For the first time in so long, longer than she’d awoken from her icy tomb, she felt _alive_. She felt overcharged with energy, her limbs overflowing with power, so unlike the exhausting body she used to walk in. She could hear the faint creaking of the metal supports that kept the vault ceiling from collapsing in on them. She could distinguish individual lines, dents, and crinkles in the ceiling as if her eyes weren’t two inches away from it. Her skin no longer ached, but felt like a veritable suit of armor, yet sensitive to every stray breeze. She could smell crushing body odor, suffocating mold, and tangy dampness. She felt like she could rule the world.

She felt like she could find Shaun.

She was so caught up in finally feeling a semblance of normalcy without the aid of narcotics that she didn’t notice when the drill bits pulled out of her skin, or when the icy cuffs fell away and freed her. She only realized the whole ordeal had ended when a heavy body vaulted on top of her and mercilessly licked her face.

“Ah, Dogmeat! Down, boy!” Allison commanded, unsuccessfully attempting to shove him away. Allison was floored by the amount of texture his fur contained, and wondered if it was always like that. Damn, it felt good to be sober.

Dogmeat surrendered eventually, reverting to happily chasing his tail on the floor as his master raised herself to a sitting position. She noticed Cait form the corner of her eye, and she looked up.

“How do ya feel?”

“I feel like I could to take a trip to the Glowing Sea.”

 

**ooooo**

 

The trio lounged just inside the dark cave of Vault 95, huddled around an illuminating, crackling fire and seeking refuge from the downpour outside. They’d managed to find a decent spot not obstructed by a puddle of blood, and thus they’d scavenged wood planks from the musty furniture, thrown it into an organized chaos onto the floor and struck a match, a tepee of three steel rods creating a stand from which a pot dangled from wire. Wrapped in their sleeping blankets and wearing a few pairs of leather gloves, they clutched steaming cans of soup that warmed their hands, with another on way boiling in the kettle.

Dogmeat, the smelly, insufferably adorable mongrel, had snuggled up under Allison’s blanket and had apparently forgotten that he wasn’t a lapdog. Allison was grateful for the space heater he provided, though.

Cait sat across from them, several covers donated graciously from the woman on the opposite side of her obscuring most of her from view save her red tresses which spilled over the mountain of blankets to resemble a human volcano. Several feet away from them, the grey sky tossed waves of water onto the radioactive earth, the whole gloomy scene framed perfectly by the gear-shaped entrance to the cave.

Cait was lost in thought, the sparking, flickering flames reflecting in the black pupils between vibrant green irises. Allison watched her curiously when she wasn’t concentrating on slurping scalding soup from a spoon. She noticed how much straighter she sat, how much more power she packed in densely muscled arms, how the whites of those breathtakingly intense eyes weren’t stained a permanent, sore red. She wouldn’t say it out loud, not yet at least, but she was so indescribably proud of Cait for overcoming her personal problems. They weren’t completely dealt with, but the first and most important step had been taken.

Cait looked up from her meal, and Allison perked, fingers spreading rhythmically through the fur of Dogmeat’s flank.

“Thank you,” she said, loud enough to be heard, but not to echo off the walls.

“No problem.” Dogmeat licked his lips and blew air threw his nose, ruffling the blankets, before snuggling just a little closer.

“I couldn’t have done it by meself,” Cait insisted.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Would’ve died anyways if you hadn’t at least tried,” Allison speculated.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. Not maybe.”

Cait just nodded.

The rain continued to pour. The smell of soup had overpowered the smell of blood, but Allison still hovered her face over the steam, basking in its comforting heat.

“Ya gonna head into the Glowin’ Sea after this?” Cait queried.

Allison gazed outward through the vault’s exit, examining the malevolent horizon hiding behind clouds of nuclear radiation as if she could spy her destination from here. “Yes.”

Cait shifted uneasily. “No one’s ever returned from the Glown’ sea, ya know.”

“I know. But I have to. Shaun’s depending on me.” Cait remained anxious and worried. “You don’t have to come with, you know. I only brought enough Rad-X and Rad Away for one person.”

“I know. But where’ve I got ta go?” Cait asked as if the answer was obvious. To Allison, it was.

“My home is your home, Cait. That’s where you can go.”

Cait, for whatever reason, seemed taken aback by the generosity that Allison had initially thought was implied. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. Honestly, I can’t imagine myself without you as it is. We’ve traveled together for months now.” Allison wondered what it would be like to travel alone again, with only herself to watch out for. She would find out soon, but the thought of her without Cait was still odd.

“Well, I suppose…” Cait nodded her head, looking Allison in the eye. “Yeah. I guess I will.”

Allison studied the wasteland again, memorizing slopes and curves and significant landmarks if she ever became lost.

“Just…” Cait’s voice returned her attention to the redhead with worry all over her face. “Please come back. You’re me only friend, the only one who’s treated me with respect. I don’t wanna lose ya to some overgrown lizard, ya hear?”

“Don’t worry, Cait. I’ll be careful.”

“…Good.” But it didn’t sound like she believed her.

 

**ooooo**

Allison’s Pipboy bleeped louder with every step she took. On the glowing green screen, lines bounced and jounced erratically as she neared her target. Greentech Genetics was a large building, with the prevailing color being a lackluster emerald that had faded with time. The turrets were still fully operational, however, and Allison was forced to deal with them. Seats and benches with sleek leather ripped and gutted sparsely populated the sidelines of the main hallway that twisted and winded through wide, boxy clearings, past cracked windows that once caged genetic miracles, and through indoor courtyards that were once tastefully decorated with lush greenery and fresh sod, and overhead walkways snaked through the air suspended by creaking cables. The lighting was shattered, glass fragments crunching beneath her boots as she headed further inward and upward, but the massive holes and ruptures in the skyscraper’s walls allowed just enough of afternoon’s light into the facility.

Just like Vault 95, there were corpses everywhere, but Allison didn’t make these. These were created by the thing she was hunting. The thing that was still wrecking through hordes of Gunners above, drumming up an irritatingly loud racket.

That was okay by Allison; it told her exactly where it was. Still, as she waded through corpses punctured with precise burn wounds she kept her wits about her. There were some Gunners the thing had left alive, after all, which meant it wasn’t as thorough as she.

Pistol in hand, she’d sulked through hallways pocked with fragmentation from detonated grenades, stepped over bodies whose muscles still twitched and spasmed from memory of life, and past devastated defenses, devastating a few of her own on her way.

She recalled everything she’d learned over the past weeks. She’d learned that the Glowing Sea was the tenth circle of Hell, and that combing the damned place had nearly cost her life on multiple occasions. She’d learned that Brian Virgil had voluntarily transformed himself into a Super Mutant, and resided in possibly the shittiest hole Allison could think of. She’d learned (not for the first time) that attempting to save her son from the clutches of the Institute was suicide. And finally, she’d learned that they key to penetrating the Institutes walls required a chip implanted in the Institute’s greatest asset.

The Courser was a genetically superior synthetic human being, bred to run farther and faster, hit harder, and kill better than any human in existence. And she had to track one down and kill it. Seeing the aftermath of its rampage, Allison wished she’d brought Cait along. Or Dogmeat. But it was too late now.

The elevator dinged. She cautiously stepped outward, glancing either direction, then continued forward. They seemed to be in the top segment of the tower, an open, multileveled floor plan allowing her to peek at the top.

Someone screamed. The metallic explosion of a laser weapon.

Seconds later, a protective military helmet clattered from floor to floor until it landed at the tip of her boot. A singed hole was burned in the middle of the forehead.

Up above, a smooth, steady voice persuaded the remaining survivors to calm. They did, and another bit a stream of focused light beams.

Allison quieted the chirping of her Pipboy, taking slow, measured steps up flights of stairs and through doorways until she’d arrived at the final entrance. She peered through the window of the door, seeing no one, and tossed her pack and her restrictive coat to the side so she possessed as much speed and mobility as possible.

She exited, silent footsteps carrying her forward through the darkness until she emerged into the lighted room. It was circular, with a center section missing like a large donut, and giving a view to the area she’d just ascended from.

A man approached from the left. She whipped around, but he didn’t fire, and so neither did she.

The courser was dressed in the most unusual garb. An all-black, leather, trench coat flecked in blood undulated from his tall, broad shoulders all the way down to his booted ankles. His face was rugged, his ochre hair lengthy and tied back into a ponytail. His ice-cold, blue eyes deeply set in his face, his nose large and brutish, and his lips thin but wide, he made up an imposing figure as tall as Allison. In both his hands in front of him was held a blocky, plastic laser pistol, the barrel short and outlined with red. The muzzle sizzled as they glared at each other.

It was he who spoke with his soft voice first. “You’ve been following me.”

“Yes. I have.” Allison responded.

“Are you here for the synth?” he asked simply.

“No. I’m here for you.”

“That won’t end well.”

“No, it won’t.”

The Courser was very, very fast, but Allison was just a bit faster. He raised the pistol to aim at her face, weapon close to his body, and pulled the trigger.

But her hand had already darted forward to wrap firmly around his wrist, pushing the muzzle away from her body so the laser zoomed harmlessly to the side, and with a complex maneuver she hadn’t used in a long time, she torqued his wrist until the gun clattered to the floor.

Unfortunately, this meant he now had two free hands, and he used them to dexterously tear her own pistol from her grasp, turning the weapon around with his right hand as his other snaked around the back of her neck to keep her close.

From his hip, he pointed the newly acquired pistol at her stomach with the intention to plant a slug there, but as she fought for control of his grip on her neck with her right, her left shot down to firmly grasp the slide of her weapon, pushing the line of fire away. Just before he pulled the trigger, she desperately fingered the magazine release lever, and it slide from the gun onto the floor. When he fired and it missed again, he tossed the empty weapon carelessly.

He attempted to push her backwards, but she’d seen the move coming and reversed it, slamming a palm into his chest so he was the one who stumbled dramatically until he hit the rail.

Bracing himself on the cool metal railing that had saved him from tumbling several stories to his death, he reached into his coat and produced a rectangular object with a variety of buttons and switches. Before he could do anything with it, Allison took one step forward and kicked the Stealth Boy from his grasp, and both watched as it flew over his head and into the chasm.

She immediately dropped into a fighting stance and advanced, not allowing him any time to recover. He threw a wild right jab at her face, probably intended to distract, but she reacted faster than he expected, slapping his palm down and outward, and his rhythm was thrown off.

Allison capitalized and corkscrewed a blow that connected solidly with his jaw, head whipping to the side, but Allison didn’t carry the strength to knock him out. As he stuttered slightly, she attempted to grab him and keep him within striking range, but he recovered astonishingly quickly.

So quickly, in fact, that she almost didn’t notice that he’d attempted another blow again. Clenching his jaw in well-subdued pain and trying to take advantage of his brute power, he threw a strike that concentrated all of his worth, his strength and his body mass, that rocketed towards her head. It probably would’ve killed her if she hadn’t aborted at the last second and ducked.

But now, he’d overextended, and once again Allison punished him for his mistake. She gripped his wrist and his elbow in a hold that she wouldn’t allow him to break, and twisted so that he was forced to either break his humerus or bend over. He chose to bend over- just as Allison’s shin smacked with satisfying power into his face.

Still gripping his arm with one hand, she released the other and closed in with the intent to strike the base of his skull with her elbow.

And once again, she underestimated his recovery time. Without warning, he ripped his arm away from her grip, recoiled, and slapped with a closed fist lightning-fast at her face. Caught in the middle of her offensive maneuver, she could do nothing but take the knuckles that slammed into her cheek, whirling with the direction of the blow to lessen its impact, circling about to replant herself several feet away.

He showed no emotion, no elation at finally landing something as Allison rubbed cautiously at her stinging cheek.

“Ow.” Sharp, punctual, and annoyed, but she allowed no more than casually berating herself for falling for such a ruse. That would not happen again. She would play to her advantages: speed, and avoid any other silly mistakes.

Neither seemed particularly fond of the dragging the ordeal for longer than it needed to, so the Courser advanced hard and fast.

He threw a right cross at her jaw, and she dodged outside, jabbing him in the face.

He followed with a left hook. She backed off once she knew what he was doing, and swooped in once he was overextended and chastised him with the same move, but this one connected with its target and his head whipped again.

He recuperated at a phenomenal rate but she was prepared this time; when he attempted to knock out her forward leg with his shin, it collided harmlessly against her steeled leg.

Stuck in recovery again, Allison saw an opportunity to do real damage and so she inhaled quickly and stepped forward.

Her left arm wrapped around his forward arm, restricting all movement, and her left leg planted behind his forward leg, ensuring he was trapped in her grasp. She couldn’t very well dodge in this position, and she was fairly certain she would have a tough time blocking or redirecting his attacks this close, so she turned up the heat and concentrated purely on a full offensive.

She imagined his guard would concentrate his face, so she softened him up with a few powerful body shots- one to his stomach to abuse his diaphragm and two to his ribs fracture to fracture and cause pain- that had him awkwardly failing to stumble backward out of her embrace of iron.

The trick worked; as she coiled back to place her fourth strike, he dropped his guard just a little closer to his body to attempt to avoid more damage to his torso, and she utilized his slip up. At the last moment, she morphed the blow into a right hook that swung around what remained of his guard and again connected with his jawline.

She never relented; he was thoroughly dazed, feeling the repercussions for tanking every blow so far, and she wasn’t about to give up now.

Immediately following up, her right hand ran through the hair at the nape of his neck and clutched in a death grip, and she pulled him downward into her ascending knee once, then twice, feeling his nose crunch and his resistance to her arm lock weaken with both attacks.

She released his head, and when he whipped his noggin upward in a stupor, she briefly examined the bloody damage.

Then, she reared back and with all of her might, her fighting spirit, and her love for her son, clocked him one last time in the jaw with a mighty, adrenaline laced knuckle sandwich to the jaw.

He was done for; the moment the strike smacked against flesh, Allison found that she was supporting his weight more than himself, and she finished the fight succinctly.

She only partially untangled herself, still clutching his arm tightly in case he was faking it, which he wasn’t. Allison simultaneously stepped in and pivoted so her back pressed against his front, looping his arm over her front, and bent over. He gave little resistance and that only worsened the damage; he flipped head over heels over her shoulders and crashed so hard into the metal floor, the tremor that followed could be mistaken for a gunshot at a distance.

He was out cold, groaning once before quieting completely, but he wasn’t dead. His wrist still controlled by Allison, she raised her booted foot and hesitated not a moment before she ended his life with her sole.

She thumbed her cheek, feeling the bruise but finding no other injuries on her grim mug. An investigation of her scalp and her ribs confirmed that she hadn’t sustained any injuries from the tussle, and thus she decided a stimpack wasn’t necessary to cure such a small blemish.

Allison stood, feeling more powerful than ever before once she realized what she’d just done, and searched the floor for her pistol. The weapon lazed a few feet away from the magazine, but also just a few feet away from a couple spectators she hadn’t noticed. Both adorned in military jumpsuits and combat armor, she recognized them as gunners.

They didn’t seem very thankful about the rescue, however.

Allison waltzed over to them, stooping to retrieve the magazine, then the pistol before halting before them. She made a show of meticulously examining the bullets, then the gun, then deliberately sliding the magazine into the grip. She dramatically pressed the release lever, the slide loudly clicking back into position and loading a fresh round into the chamber, then let the weapon dangle at her side.

“So I heard something about a synth.”

A banging on a glass wall to her right caught her attention, and she twisted her head to witness a young lady smacking her fists against the glass and screaming for her attention. She was truly a miserable sight, hunched over and quivering, brunette locks stringy from grime and her outfit covered in mud and blood. Allison acknowledged her with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Never mind.”

Two quick trigger pulls and two heads whipped backwards, bodies shuddering then collapsing in on themselves while crimson began to pool from the holes in their glabellums.

She nodded as she walked over to the glass barrier. “Who’re you?”

“M-my Institute designation is K1-98. But I prefer Jenny, if you don’t mind, Miss,” she mumbled.

“Ah. You’re the synth he was talking about?”

“Yes. I am. Can you please let me out?” she asked feebly.

“Don’t see why not,” and she stalked over to the door. As she tapped away at the terminal, decoding matrices and determining access points in the jumbled mess of programming, she asked, “So you escaped from the Institute? That why you’re here?”

“Yes, I did. They sent Z2-47 to retrieve me. The Courser, I mean,” she explained, correcting herself.

After a frustrating session of fighting a computer that was already fighting itself, the door opened with a hiss.

“Thank you!” Jenny beamed, and rushed away. As she passed, Allison hesitantly grabbed her arm.

“Hey…” she knew it was a stupid question, but she needed to ask anyways, “While you were there, at the Institute, did you happen to see a young boy? Brown hair? My eyes and mouth?”

Jenny frowned, sifting through memories, but apologetically replied, “No, sorry. I don’t think I remember seeing any young boys.”

Allison sighed. “That’s okay.” And she released the escaped synth into the wild. “Be careful. There might be more Gunners downstairs that I missed.”

The footsteps disappeared with a ding of an elevator, and Allison sauntered over to the corpse of Z2-47, twirling a combat knife in her palm.

“Now what are you hiding under that roguishly handsome mug of yours, huh?”

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait was worried.

No, that was an understatement.

Cait was distraught. Allison had been absent for about three and a half weeks today, which was about a week and a half past the deadline she’d set for herself. Cait was a worrier, just like that song on the radio, and when the sole person she cared for, and dare she say have feelings for, went missing long past the date she was supposed to return by, Cait’s stomach tied itself into knots so complex and tangled not even the most experienced sailors would have the ability to decipher it.

Dogmeat was anxious too. He whimpered and paced back and forth, and when he wasn’t bothering Cait or Codsworth, he flopped his haunches at the door, his tail wagging excitedly every time something made a noise on the other side. He wasn’t eating properly either, leaving his food largely untouched, and he only seemed to sleep whenever Cait was awake, much to her chagrin.

Codsworth remained the only inhabitant of the lavish household to not show a smidgeon of concern, but that wasn’t particularly surprising seeing as his madam disappeared for months, even centuries at a time.

Currently, Cait attempted to ease her mind on the couch, propping her feet on the armrest while she watched Pre-War movies on holotapes. Cait refused to turn to alcohol to calm her, especially now that she was clean, and had instead discovered the joys of Codsworth’s smoothies, which actually tasted pretty damn good, if she did say so herself.

Allison couldn’t be dead.

That was obviously the greatest possibility, but she couldn’t just accept it. There were too many things Cait had been too cowardly to say to her for the woman to have died in some remote corner of the Commonwealth; that wouldn’t be fair. Nothing had ever been fair to Cait, but this passed over into an all new realm of unfairness. She was the first Cait had ever felt anything for, truly felt something that wasn’t a side effect of drugs or her early naiveté.

All sorts of awful scenarios unwillingly played themselves out in her mind’s eye. There was one where Allison succumbed to the intense radiation of the wasteland, gasping for air as melted lungs gushed from her gaping mouth. There was one where she scrabbled away from a hulking deathclaw, legs ripped off by the monstrous beast. There was one where she was kidnapped by a gang of raiders and forced to submit to their will. But the one that almost reduced her to tears was the one where Allison had lied to her, where she’d seen what a wreck Cait was in the vault and had abandoned her pathetic companion and everything else to travel westward.

Her heart lept into her throat when someone trudged past the front window, and she scrabbled to her knees when the door swung open.

“Welcome home, Miss Allison!” Codsworth chirped from across the kitchen, already set on cooking up a Salisbury steak for the group.

Dogmeat pounced onto his missing master, almost tackling her to the ground as he shoved his tongue into her face. She laughed a genuine laugh, and all of Cait’s anxiety left her system at the jingling tune. Allison tried to set him down, but he was relentless in his love-giving and so she waited until he started sprinting laps around the living room.

She stood when she saw Cait hovering over her.

“Hey-.” Allison was cut off as Cait wrapped her in a bear hug and didn’t let go for a long period. Arms travelled up her back and held her close, fingers gently massaging her spine through the tank top. Cait burrowed into the crook of Allison’s neck, pressing her lips against the soft expanse of warm flesh. She could detect every heartbeat, every rise and fall of her companion’s chest, and the rhythmic nature soothed her jangled nerves.

“Where the Hell have you been?” Cait murmured.

“I found a way in, Cait,” Allison mumbled back. She smelled like dirt and sweat.

“That doesn’t answer me question.”

“I know. I’ll tell you at dinner,” Allison reassured her.

“I want ya ta tell me now, dammit,” Cait insisted, though the sharpness was as soft as her volume and her caress.

“Alright. Then I’ll tell you now.” Allison’s head raised. “Hey Codsworth, bring me a glass of water?”

“Certainly, mum!” was the response.

Cait looked up and gazed at Allison’s face closely. She frowned when she noticed the purple bruise beneath her eye, cocking her head to one side. She raised a hand to cup her cheek and trail her finger over the abused flesh, feeling Allison shiver beneath her.

“What happened here?” Cait queried.

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” Allison offered.

Cait reluctantly backed away, vaulting over the couch. Allison, too weary for such an energy-consuming action, walked around and plopped down, sinking into the cushion with a sigh.

Cait prodded her shoulder. “Don’t ya pass out on me just yet. You’ve some explainin’ ta do, missy.”

Allison’s eyes opened and she shifted to look at Cait, contemplating where to start.

“I found Brian Virgil,” Allison informed.

“And what did he have ta say?”

“That it’s suicide messing with the Institute,” she explained, exasperated.

“So nothing we don’t already know,” Cait confirmed.

“Not quite. Do you know what a Courser is, Cait?”

Cait’s brow furrowed. “Don’t believe I do.”

“They’re the Institute’s overworld assassins. Big, mean motherfuckers. They’re pretty good too,” Allison explained, reaching into her pocket to pull something out.

When Cait brushed the pads of her fingers tenderly over the bruise just under her eye, Allison jumped at the contact, “Did one of them give ya this?”

“Y-yeah. They, uh, know how to fight, I can tell you that from experience,” she mumbled as Cait closely inspected the bruise. It was a nasty hit, and when Cait turned her companions head to inspect her jaw, she gratefully found no others.

“Ya need ta ice this,” Cait instructed.

Allison removed Cait’s hands from her face, clearly annoyed that Cait was shifting subjects. “Okay, I will. But listen; Virgil told me that these Coursers have a chip in their heads that lets them teleport in and out at will. So I tracked one down and I found this in the little bastard’s skull.” Allison brought a round, dull, metallic device into view, pieces of gore still wedged in the cracks and crevices.

“That a-?”

Allison cut her off excitedly, “This is a Courser chip. It has the frequency the Institute uses to teleport its synths in and out programmed into it. Now, normally, these things have a nasty encryption on them, but Valentine and I managed to cobble together the software needed to crack into it. So I took this back to Virgil-.”

“Woah, woah, slow down hun. Yer talkin’ a million miles an hour and I can’t quite keep up,” Cait requested, and Allison paused to compose herself before she resumed.

“So I took this back to Virgil and he gives me these-, gimme a second,” and she fumbled with something in her other pocket. She withdrew a few sketches on lined paper, a list of materials, and a code, and shifted closer to Cait so they sat shoulder to shoulder. “These are blueprints for a teleportation device. _This_ is how I get in.”

Allison triumphantly displayed the documents, and Cait gave up on comprehending the diagrams and charts after a few seconds of scanning the illegible writing. “So that’s where you’ve been for three weeks, huh?”

Sheepish, Allison admitted, “Yeah. I was going to come back after I killed the Courser, but I was on a roll by that time. This is the most progress I’ve made in months, Cait.” She reclined into the sofa, staring straight forward. Softly, she murmured, “After all these months of scouring the wasteland without a single fucking clue as to where he is, I finally have a way of getting to him.”

Cait watched her, how she spun the circular chip in her hands and how her eyes began watering, if only slightly. Cait gazed at her companion who stared into nothingness, memorized the curves of her gentle cheekbones, counted each individual eyelash, examined the chapped, full lips, admired how even though she hadn’t taken a proper shower in weeks, the scarlet tresses still sheened.

“I’m going to get my boy back, Cait. I’m going to get Shaun,” she whispered.

They sat in silence, Dogmeat’s tail swishing and knocking against the oaken legs of the coffee table, the crystal clear water rippling in the glass cup with every jolt of the table it sat upon. The ticking of the clock was painfully loud in the quiet, each mechanical tock reverberating off of the walls. The only other sound was that of Codsworth’s tinkering with the tools in the kitchen, laying silverware to rest and scrubbing dishes clean in preparation for the next meal.

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Allison mumbled.

“If yer tryin’ ta persuade me, it’s not gonna work. I’m still comin’ with,” Cait insisted.

“Not persuading, just informing you that this is my business. You’re not obligated to tag along.”

“Yes I am, and ya know it.” Cait scooted just a little bit closer, their pinky fingers tickling each other with their proximity. “I left ya once, and ya didn’t return for three weeks. Besides, I can’t let me only friend hunt down the boogeyman of the Commonwealth alone now, can I?”

Allison chortled. “Guess not.”

Codsworth whistled, balancing two plates of steaming food on his multiple appendages. “I’ve whipped up a meal, mum. You must be famished!”

“I am indeed.” For the briefest, scariest moment, Allison fully embraced her hand, fingers threading between fingers, and squeezed. Allison looked away from Cait, so she couldn’t witness the blush that erupted on her face, or the look of disappointment when Allison relinquished her hand to saunter over to the table.

Cait’s crush would be the death of her if she didn’t say something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That fight scene was rewritten 3 (?) times over, so I hope you all liked the finished product.


	7. Coming to Terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the support! I really, really appreciate all of you so, so much! Enjoy!

An impressive assortment of raw materials lay in gargantuan piles in the middle of the rundown road snaking between the abandoned husks. Steel beams cluttered the area like pick-up sticks, and sheets of metals sprawling for the sky like sharp stacks of orange, pocked paper. Bags of crumbly cement leaned against the piles, joined by wheelbarrows, shovels, wrenches, multicolored tanks of oxyacetylene, welders, and any other tool deemed useful in the construction of the teleporter. There were necessary pieces missing, mainly electrical equipment and rare earth metals, but the aim of the day was not to begin building. Resources needed collecting, and the sole inhabitants of what was once a great neighborhood had decided that the best place to start was home.

As the piles grew larger, the depressing shells through which wind whistled like a somber flutes grew smaller, their walls picked apart for materials. Eventually, they collapsed one-by-one with a tired sigh, and the din they rustled up startled everyone every time it happened.

The group had worked hard to amass such a collection of junk, spending hours on end wrenching metal from frames and dragging cumbersome equipment uphill. Even now, as the harsh sun cooked everything in sight, the group worked and worked and worked.

Correction: Allison continued to work and work and work in the scalding temperatures, seemingly undeterred by the elements.

Cait was currently lounging in the shadows, a cold beer freezing her fingertips and searing her throat. Reclined in a lawn chair that threatened to topple over, her feet propped on a table, she relaxed for a few moments before she would join Allison and Codsworth in their endless struggle for more parts. For the time being, however, she cheekily watched from a distance, dishing out sarcastic comments on the occasion that would net an equally as witty retort from her companion.

Allison was a machine, Cait realized. After hours under the sun, she showed no sign of tiring, her feet never sluggishly dragging along the ground in exhaustion as she toiled, her spine never arching under the overbearing weight of dense waves of sunlight. Nothing could stop her, and nothing would stop her. Not until her son was cradled in her arms, she’d made that clear from day one in their time at home. Her motivation was inspiring, her unbending will to save her family striking a chord in Cait’s heart that she’d thought was severed long ago.

It was Allison’s reason to sleep at twelve at night and wake at five in the morning every day. It was why her knees didn’t buckle even as she pulled something heavier than her along the asphalt. It was why, as soon as she’d tossed whatever contraption she’d carried from the opposite end of the block into the pile, she was immediately away again. Honestly, Cait wished she could be like her, wished she could possess something so special that it would block pain and lend her so much strength.

But in _total_ honesty, Cait was wishing for something decidedly more selfish as she watched the woman work.

She’d chosen her spot beneath the outdoor garage for a reason: the spot was close enough to the piles that Cait could clearly read the fine details of her companion, but just far enough away and just shady enough that she didn’t need to worry about concealing her obvious ogling. But Cait wondered if Allison knew, considering that she showed more skin than she usually showed; today, a tank top flaunted her athletic torso and jeans that were just a little too tight in all the right places hugged her thighs that were thick for all the right reasons.

A faintly mischievous smile played across her dimpled cheeks as she took in the figure from afar. Her tongue briefly flitting across her lips as she eyed the undoubtedly delicious droplets of sweat that coated immaculate flesh defaced by crosshatches of scars. Her teeth catching her bottom lip as she spied a glance of a defined six pack that revealed itself for mere seconds whenever it caught on whatever she was carrying, but those mere seconds was all the time Cait needed. Her heartbeat quickening when she noticed how the white material of her tank top caught against her nipples unrestrained by a bra. Her eyes widening to absorb more of that taut rear framed flawlessly by those jeans that must have been sent by God or something equally as heavenly.

Allison had to know Cait was staring, because it seemed as if every time Allison bent over, Cait was gifted with a perfect view of her ass or a straight shot down her cleavage that confirmed Cait’s greatest hopes that, yes, Allison really wasn’t wearing a bra.

Cait hummed in strangled, frustrated satisfaction, liquid fire pooling in her abdomen. The only kind of show Cait ever received she’d paid for with caps, and most of the time there was action to ease her pain.

 But this… This was new. This watching from a distance without at least throwing in a lewd remark here and there. This reluctance to just up and ask for what she wanted for fear that she would fuck up whatever they had between them. This maddening yearning for one and only one person. It felt odd to obsess over one person, maybe even dangerous, but perhaps that was part of why she liked it so much.

She wished she had the guts to speak her mind; after spying the ghost of a smile on Allison’s lips as she turned away, she became certain the feelings were mutual.

But she couldn’t, so she didn’t. All she could do now was savor the miniscule amount of friction gained when she rubbed her thighs together, throw her head back slightly and squeeze her eyes closed as her lip pursed to keep her hand from traveling lower, wince slightly as she attempted to nonchalantly press the cold bottle into her crotch.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Cait nearly leapt from her skin. Why must the woman she fantasizes about possess footsteps that were so deathly quiet?

Instead of giving Allison what she wanted, Cait grinned deviously.

“I suppose I am.”

She swore she heard a muted, “Me too.”

Allison pulled another chair from nowhere and dropped it in a proximity that was just a tad too close to Cait for comfort. Had her companion been anyone else, of course.

Allison plopped down, the furniture creaking under the uneven distribution of weight, and let loose a sharp sigh. At a glance, she seemed to study her pristine house that sat so out-of-place among the neighboring rusting carcasses, but deeper inspection revealed that Allison’s gaze phased through her home and into deep thought.

All was mostly quiet for a little while. The grating whisper of dusty wind eviscerating the paint from the structures around them. The padding of feet as Dogmeat explored the area in the background, his furry snout appearing in windows and doorways for brief flashes. The tinkering of metal on metal as Codsworth drifted to and fro, clutching what he could in his pinchers and depositing them in the appropriate section of the collection of scrap metal.

Cait tried to keep her eyes off of the woman so close to her, she really did, but eventually the promise of gazing upon raw beauty was too great to turn down. So she stared through the corner of her eyes, stark emerald irises riding over curves and bumps, and wishing _she_ could ride those curves and bumps.

She snorted at that.

Allison’s gaze flicked over to catch Cait’s, whose eyes darted upward from her stomach. The eye contact they shared was short but lasted an eternity, and had Cait’s cheeks not flushed from the heat, they would surely be flushed now.

Allison’s gaze returned to the house.

Cait gulped audibly. She brought the rim of the bottle to her lips, reveled in the way the sting of the alcohol cleared her mind, and rested the bottle on her thigh. She looked down at the glass, reading the tiny font to clear the nagging feel of eyes feeling her up.

Sure enough, when she cast a quick glance in her companion’s direction, Allison was staring intently at her.

“Cait?”

Cait raised her gaze hesitantly, as if she were afraid of what Allison had to say. Maybe she was?

Allison studied her face. Then, she studied the bottle.

“Can I have a swig?”

Cait surprised herself by how quickly she offered the beverage. “Sure. Drink up.”

Allison took the offering. She stared into the bottle, inspecting its contents as she swirled it.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t poison it,” she teased.

“I know.” Then, she knocked back half of what was left.

Cait looked away again, this time focusing in on a toppled, red tricycle whose tires had succumbed to the heat and bled from the wheels.

“Cait?”

Her head swiveled. “Yeah?”

Allison was staring at her again. Cait felt her gaze as it glided over her brow, raked through her stringy hair, washed over reddened cheeks, teased over her chin, and halted at her lips for a second longer than at any other feature. Allison’s eyes darted upward to see if Cait noticed, and, yes, Cait noticed very much.

Allison’s lips parted.

Cait leaned forward without thought.

She shouldn’t have been disappointed when Allison used her lips to speak instead of…

“Thank you.”

Cait frowned. “What for?”

Allison breathed through her nose, falling back into her chair as she thought what exactly she was thankful for.

“Being here,” she decided.

An eyebrow quirked.

“Thank you for being here for me.”

But Cait still didn’t understand so Allison nodded her head, stared up the hill towering behind her house, and continued.

“When I woke up, I had nothing. I know I’ve already told you this, but it’s true. I had nothing. I had no family left. I had no home. I had no food, or water, or a place where I could be safe. Hell, I didn’t even have my own _clothes_. Just some stupid jumpsuit that was too small.”

Cait knew the best course of action was to stay silent.

“I had nothing for the longest time. I know it wasn’t the _longest_ time; I know most people nowadays have had less than I had then for their entire lives, but this time it was _me_ it was happening to.”

Silence for a little bit. Codsworth came and went, dispensing a can of water after fretfully informing his master of the dangers of dehydration, and Dogmeat ran here and there in that pointless, frantic way that dogs do.

Allison turned to Cait here, who perked up.

“You know the feeling you get, where you just say ‘oh’?”

“I’ve had sex before, if that’s what yer askin’,” Cait quipped.

Annoyed, Allison shook her head as one would at a foolish child.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean-,” A pause as she stared at the ceiling.

When she looked to Cait, _at_ Cait again, there was a pensive recognition of something about Cait or about what Cait had done, a sort of solemn reverence for Cait’s humanity. Allison was serious, and as such, chose her words deliberately.

“Have you ever looked at your life when it was in shambles and wondered how you got there?”

Cait needn’t say a word at that; they both knew the answer.

“While you were there, did you ever wonder how it could possibly get worse? Or maybe you thought that you were least lucky person in the world, and that no one held anything on you because your life was just so shitty?”

The question was rhetorical, and for once, a witty comeback wasn’t poised at the tip of her tongue.

Allison wavered, uncertain, concerned with how her words would be received, then said them anyways.

“My moment was when I met you.”

Allison’s gaze returned to stare through the house again while Cait wondered if the confession was an insult.

“It happened before. Before the War, I mean, during the one I was there for.”

“There was more than one war?” Cait asked.

Allison snorted. “Yeah. It may surprise you, but humans have always been shitty. I was in the military at the time, so I saw action as well. I already knew what people were capable of before I woke up later.”

“I thought I had it bad, fighting for my life and all, but then-,” Allison pointed regretfully at nothing in the distance, shaking her extended arm.

A deep sigh, wistful eyes fatigued by too much experience with apocalypse. “Then, I saw the natives. I’d never seen anyone so pathetic until I saw this- this little kid, didn’t even come up to my hip, who’d lost his parents during the conflict.”

“He’d lost everything Cait. His family and his brothers and sisters. His home. His friends. His toys. His childhood. He was all covered in mud and blood and dirt, but he didn’t care about that. How can you care about something as insignificant as your looks when you’ve lost everything, Cait? How can you gripe and complain about how unfair the world is to you when you see something like that, Cait?”

“We… well, we ruffled his hair, lied and told him everything would be ok. Then we left him. Just left him standing there in the middle of all his dead family. I’d never seen someone with the look he had on his face ever again.”

Allison looked back to Cait.

“Until I met you.”

Cait’s immediate reaction was to bristle under the implication, but she calmed herself in light of the moment.

“And what look would that be?”

“Lost.” Curt, but dismal. “Sad. Angry, very angry. Betrayed. Dead but still walkin’. I’m sure I had it at one point.”

“I had one of _those_ moments, when you told me your story, where the only appropriate thing to say is ‘oh’. I saw you, and what happened to you, and I realized that while I had nothing, at one point I had something.”

“So I guess what I’m saying, Cait, is thank you for giving me the kick in the ass I needed. If you hadn’t opened up, I might still be the mopey mess I was.”

Cait had nothing to say to that. What could anyone say to that? “No problem?” “Your welcome?” She didn’t know.

Allison wasn’t finished yet, if the way she was staring at her was any indication.

“Also… Thank you for sticking by me. Thank you for helping me in my time of need, and for not running off when things between us were rocky. Being alone in a world like this is horrible, and… I’m glad you’re the one by my side.”

Allison swallowed as if she were choking down an entire mutfruit, and Cait’s lungs ceased to function properly as a familiar hand squeezed her.

“I need you, Cait. I’ve gotten to know you for a while and I’ve realized that if I’m going to save Shaun, or stay clean, or do _anything_ , I need you by my side.”

There was only one, quiet answer to that.

“Oh.”

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison dreamt of nothing that night. Which was good in a way; her sleep hadn’t been perverted by nightmares, and that meant her waking was a peaceful, if groggy, coming to the senses, rather than a sweaty, heart-pounding mess as it usually was. Her eyes darted to the nightstand hidden from view behind mountains of covers, more specifically at the Wakemaster alarm clock. Groaning, she reached over and tapped the button above the display, and the white background blared a neon yellow.

5:13 AM.

She breathed heavily, preparing mentally to leave the warmth of the blankets for the cold air of her house before slipping from the covers and sitting on the edge with her hands wiping the crustiness from the corners of her eyes. A yawn later, and she stood, glancing around the room until she spotted the dresser that contained her clothes.

The air that chilled her bare skin felt chillier thanks to her nudeness, and she pivoted to leave and dart into the shower. She considered throwing on a robe, but the garment had somehow traveled to the other side of the room, and the promise of hot water overrode her wishes to conceal her body.

Clothes folded under her arm, Allison opened the door, stalked around the corner, and nearly threw something at a very surprised Cait standing in the middle of the hallway. Her hand on the doorknob to the bathroom betrayed her intentions, and Allison cursed her timing.

Shock faded into a lecherous grin as Cait released the handle, crossed her arms, and leaned against the bathroom door.

“Well… This is a pleasant surprise,” Cait purred, eyes traveling southward.

Allison didn’t attempt to cover her naked body; instead, she stood with hips cocked to one side, arms folded in such a way as to emphasize her bust, expression presenting faux, condescending contempt that asked without words, “Really?”

What she actually said was, “Good morning, Cait.”

“A good mornin’ indeed,” Cait repeated.

Allison nodded to the bathroom. “Ahem.”

“Need somethin’?” Cait faked ignorance. “Or rather, some _one_?”

Allison stepped forward until she had to look downward to maintain eye contact, until she loomed mere inches away from a very excited Cait, until their breaths tickled skin.

“What I need now,” she accentuated every syllable, watching with amusement as Cait openly gawked at her lips, “is a cold shower.”

“Oh, do ya now?” Cait absentmindedly answered.

“I also need you to move,” Allison rumbled.

“That’s nice.” Cait wasn’t listening.

Her eyes dipped, and Allison allowed it.

“If you move, I’ll let you watch,” she teased.

Cait heaved herself off from the door immediately, a smug smile dancing upon her face. “Well, if ya put it that way.”

So she had been listening. Cait even opened the door for her, and Allison doubted chivalry persuaded her hands.

“You that desperate to see my soapy tits?”

“You offered.”

A deadlock ensued, a standoff between a woman trying to seriously decide whether or not to hold a joke promise and a woman all too focused on eye-fucking the other. Then again, Allison was allowing the eye-fucking, and she’d be lying if she said the looks Cait was giving her didn’t spark something in her belly.

This decision really didn’t require the amount of thought she was putting into it.

On one hand, allowing the feisty redhead to watch would likely be a pleasant, if awkward, experience for all parties involved.

On the other hand, Cait might get the idea that it was okay to join, and though Allison was startlingly down for a little teasing, she wasn’t sure she was totally sure that she wanted that.

But still… The length of time between when she’d last felt pretty and now had grown dreadfully long. And Cait really did make Allison feel really pretty.

She conceded to her hormones, but promised to never again think with her snatch. Or at least not for a while.

“I suppose I did.”

With that, Allison sauntered from springy carpet to cold tile, hips sashaying side-to-side until she poised against the metal sink. She noticed the absence of footsteps, and glanced at Cait’s tense figure just before the threshold of the bathroom.

She twisted her head so a single eye could peek from over her shoulder.

“Are you coming or not?”

Wearing an expression of “Oh, shit!” Cait wasted not a moment as she practically hopped into the room.

“Close the door.”

The door slid shut without hesitation. If this is how Cait responds to her commands when Allison was naked, she might never wear clothes again.

Allison pivoted, regarding Cait, determining if she was going through with this.

“You can look, but you can’t touch.”

“Wouldn’t be fun, otherwise.”

Cait stood tall with her arms crossed, mouth pulled into a dirty grin. Her eyes followed Allison as she meandered across the room, as she stooped over further than she needed to to adjust the water, as the watery cascade shrouded her provocative body with humid, clingy steam.

Allison nearly moaned when the shower hit her skin; never again would she take for granted the blessing of hot water. The surge enveloped her body, droplets of heat melting through the film of sweat and grime from yesterday’s labor. Showers were always her favorite part of the day.

However, Allison was debating whether she preferred the cleansing beneath a downpour of hot water or the way Cait’s eyes bathed over every stretch of skin. She chose the downpour, but the decision was a photo-finish.

She spent much longer than she needed to in the shower, but both women were thoroughly enjoying the exhibit, Allison chortling as Cait drooled over every contour as she slumped on the toilet across the room and committing this event to memory, permanently engraining the woman’s stellar form into her brain.

Her hips rocked slightly, needlessly, and she threw back her head as she mixed shampoo into damp, scarlet tresses. The slippery bar of soap clutched in her sinewy fingers, her hands roamed her body, up then down her legs that stretched for miles, caressing between her thighs, between the grooves of her abs. Cait seemed to especially appreciate her ass, so she spent plenty of time facing the wall and sensually scrubbing her cheeks raw.

Then the soap traveled farther upwards, rubbing beneath her breasts, lathering her boobs until Cait’s pupils were larger than her eyes and her lips parted just a sliver, just enough to see Cait’s tongue swip across her teeth. She covered her bulky arms and her sharp collarbone in suds, then set the bar of soap aside and ran her bare hands down her body. To rinse the bubbles off, she told herself, but they both knew Allison was enjoying this just as much as Cait.

Much to the disappointment of both, Allison finally ran out areas to scrub. She turned off the faucet, stepped over Lake Michigan, because she’d forgotten shower curtains existed for a reason, then scoured the bathroom for her towel.

Brow furrowed, she finally spied the fiend- squashed comfortably between the toilet cover and Cait’s butt, whose grin was so wide, it seemed to spill off of her cheeks.

She crossed her arms under her breasts again, but realized Cait would like that, so she simply said, “You gonna sit there all day?”

Cait’s eyes journeyed casually up her body, and Allison realized she’d just given Cait full permission to ogle her in public.

“I’m just admirin’ the view.”

Allison leaned forward, her knees straight, her breasts dangling, until she was face to face with Cait, ready to give her a piece of her mind.

Then a horrible, spur-of-the-moment idea invaded her common sense, and she curled her finger in a “come here” motion. As Cait leaned forward, Allison made to whisper in her ear.

But at the last moment, Allison shifted.

Cait yelped in surprise as her lips were suddenly pressed against Allison’s, but she didn’t object. Allison smiled triumphantly; now all she had to do was push and Cait would topple.

But it seemed Lady Something-Or-Other had a surprise in store for Allison as well, because the contact was meant be chaste and teasing, but it leaped in great strides over that line in seconds. Cait must’ve coated her lips in Wonderglue, because Allison couldn’t pull away. The shock dissolved from Cait’s figure in an instant, and she pressed her lips into Allison’s and made it just that much harder for her to pull away.

And then there was the titillating phantom of a tentative palm cupping her face, and Allison lost herself.

Both hands threaded into Cait’s hair, anchoring themselves and holding her to Allison as if she would die if she didn’t, and she realized that she just might. Their breathing became shorter, loudly snorting through their noses as the kiss continued to get more and more physical as time passed.

Allison decided that they weren’t close enough, and she crushed Cait with her weight as she clambered into her lap. Judging by the way hands scrabbled at her back and pushed her into the woman below her, she concluded that Cait was just fine.

Allison’s fingers had yet to unwind themselves from Cait’s hair, and they would continue to cradle Cait’s beautiful face and keep her pressed into their embrace for forever. Allison wanted into Cait’s mouth, and just before she could present hers, Cait’s tongue traveled the canyon of Allison’s lips. Allison’s tongue met Cait’s, and the muscles slithered and twisted against each other in the most uncoordinated, wonderful tango that ever existed.

Both of them moaned, actually _moaned_ , as Allison began grinding roughly, recklessly into Cait’s hips who received the attention and returned it as best she could. A hand grasped her rear and kneaded the sensitive flesh while the other scraped up and down her back that strained with the effort of kissing.

Allison was absolutely lost in Cait. She’d never met another woman capable of so much passion, and she instantly became addicted to her, to the way her skin felt against her own bare skin. To the taste of her tongue and the way she could feel every groove and valley of her lips with her own. To her scent of muck and grime and body odor and every other component that she found herself attracted to. To the noises and the rumbling vibrations as she growled and groaned. Cait was completely overpowering.

And then what they were doing registered in her mind in the most unpleasant of ways. She pulled away abruptly, Cait leaning forward blindly to try and seek out those lips, and her eyelids fluttered open.

Both women froze, neither untangling themselves from each other just yet.

Allison knew that there was a chance that something like this could happen, but she’d ignored it and now she was wrapped in an embrace that she simultaneously wanted to jump from and jump back into. Her heart thudded against her sternum loudly, breathing hard as she stared downward into a paralyzed mirror image of herself: mouth agape, eyes wide, cheeks reddened, confused beyond all measure.

After an eternity of gazing at a shell-shocked Cait, it clicked.

She felt stupid for not interpreting the signs earlier, for not seeing it for what it was. Perhaps she was so caught up in searching out Shaun that she’d unintentionally denied the truth so that she could put forth all effort into finding her baby boy? Perhaps it had been too long since the last time this had happened, and she’d forgotten the process? Or perhaps her trigger finger was the only thing about her that worked properly these days?

She knew what that something was that was seemingly arbitrarily introduced during her interactions with Cait.

Cait stammered, “I-… sorry-…”

A few moments later and Allison shook her head. “No. Don’t be-, don’t be sorry.”

She didn’t launch herself off of Cait, and Cait didn’t push Allison off her lap, but they wasted no time in displacing Allison. They still stared at each other wordlessly, trying to find something to say, but failing and perpetuating the growing awkwardness.

Cait seemed bewildered as to why Allison still lingered so close.

“Towel…” Allison murmured.

Cait stood quickly, almost knocking into Allison and passed the towel without making eye contact, staring straight forward. She continued to stare straight forward as she swiftly exited the bathroom, leaving Allison to watch her go. No door was slammed, which meant that Cait hadn’t left, and she stole some comfort from that fact.

Her eyes dropped to the towel and glared at it, as if the situation rested entirely on its shoulders, as if it alone crawled beneath Cait’s tush and nested there.

Still, she wasn’t entirely dry, so she formed a temporary peace treaty and rapidly dried herself off.

When she was done, she shoved the cloth into her face and inhaled deeply. Thankfully, it still smelled like Cait, and she wrung as much pleasure from the towel as she could before she mopped up the water staining the tile.

She wriggled into her clothes with haste; she had somewhere she needed to be.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait didn’t notice as Allison rushed out the door, ignoring Codsworth’s questions on breakfast requests.

She was drowning in the depths of her mind as she walked through the events of that morning.

She’d awoken sometime earlier with the urge to empty her bladder.

She’d walked toward the bathroom in the early hours of the morning.

She’d discovered a very naked and very flirty Allison on her way to take a shower.

And that was where the easy stuff stopped. What followed still confused her.

Allison had offered to let her watch her shower. Cait had thought it was a joke. It had not been a joke, and Cait had been pleased that it hadn’t been a joke. This wasn’t so difficult to decipher: they possessed a mutual physical attraction, and, like most who possess mutual physical attractions, they’d acted upon it.

Allison had granted Cait what could only be labelled as a tamer version of a lapdance. Again, very welcome, and likely spawned by the fact that Allison likely hadn’t fucked anyone for almost a year now. Or at least, in the months that Cait had journeyed with her.

But then… There was the kiss. That particular event wasn’t so easy to shrug off.

Cait had kissed someone before, of course, but those had been selfish and usually only spawned during sex. This kiss… Needless to say, that _something_ else was very present, and very prominent. Yes, Cait was definitely lusting for her companion, but lust wasn’t the only thing that guided her hands, wasn’t the only force that had influenced her to score her nails down Allison’s bare back as if marking her territory, wasn’t the only reason why she’d held her so close to keep her from ever leaving.

Cait gulped. She didn’t know what was happening to her.

Realistically, she had the faintest idea, but she’d long ago convinced herself that she was incapable of trusting anyone, especially like that.

She rubbed her tired eyes as she hid herself away in a corner of the dining room, knees against her damp chest, as she attempted to formulate a plan, but she was still confounded. She couldn’t properly fool herself into thinking nothing of it, not so soon after the incident, not when she could still taste Allison’s oddly delicious morning breath on her tongue, not when all of her mind was occupied with the task of sifting through the storm of emotions that all ultimately lead to Allison.

And dammit, she still had to piss.

Cait was grateful that Allison had left; she preferred that no one see the hesitation in her steps as she padded reluctantly around the corner. Codsworth still floated in the vicinity, but she suspected the tin can was either too frightened by Cait or too naïve to know what was happening, so she paid him no mind as she relieved herself. To Allison’s delight- dammit, now her mind was swirling with images of one of Allison’s rare smiles- Cait had picked up the habit of washing her hands after using the latrine.

She contemplated what to do now. Normally when she was conflicted about something, she’d wash it down with liquor, preferably something stronger than what she usually carried, but the urge had vanished. Alcohol had no pull on her whatsoever anymore, and she truly was incapable of expressing how satisfying it was.

Unfortunately, that meant she was forced to deal with her emotions the responsible way. If only she knew what that was.

 

**ooooo**

 

The stars were still barely visible as they swam in the black sky that gradually morphed grayer with every passing minute. The peachy, purple hues of morning loitered to the east, highlighting what was to come, and the moon continued to flee from the approaching day, slowly fading from existence. There was very little wind, and thus the tall, budding grass swayed minimally in the clearing, the sea of yellow greenery almost completely at rest. The gnarly, charred trees continued to skulk around the outskirts of the park, and Allison took all of it in.

She listened to the crackly crunch of rubble shifting beneath her boots as she trailed the winding cement path, ambling here and there. Her faithful canine companion had little to say, and when he did speak he did so in quiet yaps and whiny yawns.

Her arm extended, her fingertips grazed the tips of the stalks of grass that walked beside the trail that wound around the park. Once everything was said and done, she considered whether or not she would return here and trim the overgrowth. The job would require arduous hours, but she was already doing that daily, so another commitment didn’t seem so bad. Besides; she figured Nate would appreciate the view from atop his hill.

Her feet carried her around loops, through puddles, and presented her to the playground. Weeds had overrun what remained of the rotting bark ground, but she ignored them and stalked through the brush.

She convened with the monkey bars first, scratching a clipped nail over the frame that squeaked in glum relief, grateful for some attention after so long. Orange flakes showered to the ground where she touched the metal, and when she tested it’s durability, it groaned and complained.

Then she hovered over to the swing set, fingering each individual chain link, pulling to see if it would hold. She determined it would not, and settled on mindlessly inciting the evermore-sleepy swing back and forth, studying the mesmerizing motions to and fro.

This was where Shaun would’ve played, where her little tyke would’ve giggled and sprinted with a jovial grin as they would chase him. These swings, specifically the one she pushed; Shaun would’ve sat here. And Nate would push him gently with his strong arms and kind demeanor, raising him to the heavens and controlling their angel’s descent to the ground.

But those were ghosts of a past that could’ve been.

This- this incessant creaking and rusted grinding as she gently shoved the empty swing while Dogmeat scouted the area- this was now. She didn’t like that this was now, but she had no choice.

And that was what was eating her up. Until this point, she had no choice on any matters- she couldn’t refuse to save Shaun. She couldn’t refuse to fight for her life every day of every week of every month. She couldn’t refuse to listen to her instincts.

But now she could refuse something. She had choice now. And now that she could finally choose, she was petrified.

She’d come here for answers, though deep down she knew the dead couldn’t make this decision for her.

The metallic grating ceased as she brought the swing to a halt. Her mind wandered before her feet, tugging her along like a person would pull a dog on a leash. Her boots scuffed the ground, the temperature raising goosebumps all across her flesh. Wearing short sleeves was an unwise idea, but her mind wouldn’t allow her the privilege of returning to the house just yet.

So she trudged along the paths and through the places where the forest invaded the meadow and over patches of dirt and up the hill until she stood in front of him.

Allison lowered onto her haunches, legs crisscrossed and elbows resting on knees. She eyed the grave marker, thoroughly searching out every flaw in the piece of wood. She eyed the splinters, and she eyed the sloppy paint job that covered the marker with an uneven coat of white paint.

Most of all, she eyed the name, and the description following right after.

She realized how worthless this grave marker was. She’d created it with the idea that the sentiment would overshadow its flaws, but the marker seemed so insignificant when paired next to the real man himself. This cross made of scraps of wood was supposed to account for everything that Nate was, and she felt sick to her stomach that she’d made something so cheap. But she suspected nothing would ever fully realize who Nate was.

Still, she wanted to burn the piece of wood for the imposter it was.

But if she did that, the world would forget him completely. And so, with grudging finality, she decided she would leave it alone for now.

She didn’t know she was singing until she was halfway through the second verse, until Dogmeat’s ears flickered at the waver in her voice.

She continued the song until its finish. Then, after it was done, she sang it again. And then one final time, because she knew he like it just that much, and because she felt guilty for her absence for the past few days.

She breathed deeply, fingers burrowing through the fur of Dogmeat’s neck while his head rested on her thigh.

“Hey, Nate.”

No response as always. She ruffled the dirt of the mound where he lay beneath, drawing shapes with her fingers.

“Been a while, huh?”

A slight breeze tickled her neck. Dogmeat huffed.

Allison rolled her neck, one of her tells when she was approaching an uncomfortable topic.

“I need help, Nate.”

Something howled in the far distance.

She chuckled. “Yeah, I know. What’s new, right?”

She looked to the ends of the earth. At the horizon, and at the darkness dwelling in the sky’s domain. At the ocean of grass, and at the swing set. At the paths that twisted, and at the patches of dirt blighting the blankets of barley.

And then, when there was nothing else to look at, she looked at the grave marker.

“I love you, Nate. Always know that I’ll always love you.”

She sniffed.

“I loved you before this mess, and I still love you after. You were my world, you and Shaun. And I couldn’t-.”

She choked.

“I couldn’t save you. Either of you. And I know you’d say that there was nothing I could do, but I still feel like I should’ve done _something_.”

Dogmeat nuzzled her, and the timing gave her just enough to go on.

“No matter what you say, I’m sorry. When you died…”

“When you died I was crushed. My world died with you. I didn’t feel anything. I know that sounds cheesy, but like you always said, sometimes the truth _is_ cheesy.”

She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.

“I feel something now, Nate. I can be happy. I can laugh. I can- well, I can feel something other than bitterness and anger, to put it bluntly.”

She allowed the message to sink though the earth, through to him.

“I couldn’t do it alone. Feel again, I mean. I know you think I can, but you’ve always overestimated me, Nate. That’s part of why I loved you so much; you made me feel as if I can take on the world, even though we both know I can’t.”

“Thank you for that, Nate. I didn’t know how much I needed that until I couldn’t have it anymore.”

A slight breeze from the north brushed her hair out in front of her eyes, and she tucked the offending strands behind her ears.

She breathed heavily, preparing to confess.

“I’m feeling that again, Nate. More and more each day.”

Silence, neither comforting nor accusatory. Just silence.

“Do you remember what you said, about how love and time can heal any wound? The one that I always thought was corny bullshit perpetuated by rom-coms?”

“I’m starting to believe it, Nate. I suppose I shouldn’t knock it before I try it, eh?”

Silence.

“There’s a girl, Nate. And I know you’d chuckle and make a joke about my bicurious college days, and maybe I deserve that.”

“I can’t deny it any longer. I thought, at first, I was just starved. You know me: sex is- was, at least- my forte, and we practiced often. But I think it’s deeper.”

She rolled her eyes at herself. “Scratch that, I _know_ it’s deeper. I always was afraid of commitment outside of my job. Still am, I suppose.”

Allison stared off to the side again, unable to look Nate in the eyes. She was silent for a long time, wondering if this was a good idea. Eventually, she realized she’d have to face it sooner or later, and she never was one to procrastinate.

She looked at him in the face. She was torn.

“Her name is Cait. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”

She elected to stop lying to herself. “And by ‘pretty sure’, I mean I am in love with her.”

Nothing. She should expect this, but it hurt nonetheless. Tears collected in the wells of her eyes, and her lips trembled. Dammit, she hated crying. Especially in front of Nate. She didn’t want him to think she was weak, even though she knew he wouldn’t care.

“And I don’t know what to do. Because I still love you Nate.”

“I really want her, Nate. I really do. But I want you too. And I know you’re dead, and I’m talking to no one, and I probably look really, really stupid and desperate, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

“It feels like I’m cheating on you. You didn’t… pass away very long ago, but I’ve already fallen for someone else. Is that normal? Or am I a freak?”

And still, Nate said nothing.

“Goddamn it, fucking _say something_!” she yelled, slamming the dirt with a closed fist.

Tears made mud out of dirt below her, and she leaned in expectantly, angrily, desperately. The silence was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced, more than stinging bullet holes and bleeding knife wounds, more than singeing burns and tingling toxins, more than hunger pangs and exhausting withdrawals. More than anything in the world, his absence tormented her with guilty regret and anguish.

She cried. She sobbed heavy tears, drawing her knees into her face and cradling her confused self.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated over and over and over. “I’m sorry.”

It was Dogmeat that dragged her back to reality, stuffing his snout up under her arm and licking up her salty tears, as if he could relieve her pain in doing so.

She raised her weary head and gazed sidelong at the junction of earth and sky, where the sun was borne bit by bit every minute. She watched the transition from night to day through the net of the boughs of dead trees, ogled the warm rainbow overtaking night’s blanket and replacing it with something much bluer, something much more alive.

She made her decision, then. Her final decision.

She turned back toward Nate. He looked so much better in the sunlight, even if it was mostly filtered by the thicket of trees.

“I love you Nate. And I love her as well. I love both of you.”

She stood unsteadily, and so did Dogmeat.

“But you’re dead,” she forced out through a single breath. “And she’s not.”

She knelt on one knee. She would definitely create another grave marker, something he deserved rather than the rag-tag piece-of-shit that guarded over him now.

She pressed a kiss to her index and middle fingers. Then, she pressed the kiss firmly onto his name for a long time. The fingers migrated to the side, as if she were caressing his cheek.

“I’ll return with Shaun. I promise.”

Allison stood, surveyed the landscape, and huffed. She _would_ return with Shaun.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d allow herself to love again.

 

**ooooo**

 

Swabs of greasy, dirtied cotton littered across the coffee table in the living room. Springs pooled in a neat pile next to a few screws, a couple firing pins, and a disassembled trigger mechanism. Cait hunched over her shotgun in shambles, fingering through the firearm and picking the next piece to clean. She did so meticulously, the tremors having long passed.

This was the third time she’d cleaned her weapon, but she continued through process and would likely do it again. The activity was unexpectedly comforting; this thing was a machine. It was simple, and it only worked one way, one predictable way. She stole solace in this predictability, her entire state of being lost in working on her shotgun.

Then the door behind her opened, and the nervous quakes resumed so suddenly that she dropped the screwdriver to the table. She didn’t look behind her though, fear clutching the sides of her head and forcing her to look forward.

“So what’s for breakfast, Codsworth?”

“I presume steak and eggs adheres to your palate, mum?”

“That’ll do.”

“Then breakfast shall be served momentarily, mum!”

Cait wasn’t sure what process Codsworth put their food through, but the only time her mouth ever watered at the smell of mirelurk eggs and brahmin meat was when the tin can was cooking it.

“Alright. I’ll be right back out.” And Allison disappeared around the corner and down the hallway. Cait heard a door shut, and only when she heard the click of the lock did she breathe easy again. Her fingers still quavered, but the effect wasn’t as severe, and she was able to finish up and reassemble her weapon before Allison reappeared.

Once again, Cait stared straight forward.

Codsworth’s whistling reached her, as well as the clinking of plates, and quiet footsteps made their way over to her. Her shotgun was shoved a few inches to the right, and a plate of food plopped down in the middle of her vision.

“Eat up.”

Cait was relieved when the cushion beside her didn’t shift with the weight of Allison, and she glanced over to catch sight of Allison sauntering over to the table.

Cait felt eyes on her as she sliced through the sizzling meat, raising a piece to her mouth and chewing it slowly, very slowly. By the time she’d finished her meal, the food had nearly gone cold. She finished it off anyways; no sense in throwing away scraps when sustenance was such a precious commodity.

And then her stomach sank as a hand rested on her shoulder. There was an awkwardness as palpable as the meal she’d just eaten, but Allison didn’t seem too bothered by it.

She could hear the intake of breath as Allison prepared to speak her mind, but no words came. Instead, the hand squeezed and Cait’s stomach lurched in unison.

Then the hand disappeared and the door opened, then shut.

Bewildered, Cait tapped her plate with her fork once, then pushed herself off of the couch and walked to the window. Allison was already hauling junk, dragging an assortment of objects on a foldable table.

Cait watched as Allison worked for a while, arms crossed in front of her chest, careful to duck away whenever Allison’s head twisted around. She watched as Allison strained herself pulling more than she could carry uphill. She watched as she constantly wiped sweat from her brow, chest already heaving from exertion. She watched as Allison pushed and struggled and heaved and overworked herself even though she knew the day’s labor had just begun. She watched with rosy cheeks every time Allison caught her staring, heart leaping into her throat when Allison would occasionally smile a genuine smile and wave. She couldn’t tell if she liked that or hated that; she wasn’t very knowledgeable on the foreign type of excitement that stirred her heartbeat, and flushed her face rather than the area between her legs.

Codsworth’s voice startled her.

“Can I get anything for you, mum?”

“Christ, Codsy, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“My apologies, mum. But is there anything you require at the current?”

“No. Go away.”

“Absolutely positive?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now fock off.”

“Well, good day to you too!” he huffed indignantly, if robots could huff.

He floated away, but he paused.

“I’m sure Miss Allison can satisfy whatever curiosity you hold if you would simply ask, mum.”

“And what question would I have, Codsy?”

“I have no clue, but you’ve been standing at the window quizzically eyeballing Miss Allison for a solid hour and a half now, and I found it fit to inform you that whatever questions you harbor, Miss Allison can most certainly answer them, mum.”

“An hour and a half?” she flabbergasted.

“Yes, mum! One hour, thirty-three minutes, and sixteen seconds to be precise.”

Now that she thought about it, her legs were a tad tired. Not as tired as Allison’s she contemplated, and arrived at the conclusion that she appeared rather rude standing and staring and not helping.

So she swiveled, pushed past the robust chrome shell insistently, and exited the house.

Allison noticed her, and gifted Cait with the sight of a warm smile as she dropped a beam into the pile.

“Hey, butterfly.”

And like a butterfly, Cait’s heart fluttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and I'll see you next chapter!


	8. Better Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the support!

The mountain of scraps reached its peak several days ago. Content with the loosely organized hoard of frayed wires, mangled metal girders, and sheets of bullet-hole-ridden steel, Allison had ceased the hunt for more parts and had begun the process of construction. If the mess of arbitrary lines and pictures seemingly etched in an alien language were not lying, then the final build would tower monstrously high over the neighborhood.

Allison held the faintest idea that this was not a one-woman project, but she preferred not to unnecessarily introduce any other variables into the equation. The Railroad would undoubtedly lend aid in the fight against the Institute, but that was the issue: their goals differed too greatly. Allison’s top priority was to save Shaun from the synthetic clutches of evil, but the Railroad’s sights were set on annihilation of all things associated with the wasteland’s Devil.

Allison knew from experience what could come from a group like the Railroad; she had battled many liberation militias with identical objectives when she had swept cities during the Sino-American War. They tended to let their insatiable thirst for “justice” poison their judgment, and often many civilians, innocent in all respects, were caught in the crossfire.

Not that Allison worried herself over collateral.

Especially not now in this day and age where Death’s reaping was entirely unconcerned with demographics, but who’s to say that Shaun would not catch a careless bullet? No, Allison would not involve the Railroad, not as long as they were blinded by their own uncompromising principles.

Besides, Codsworth was all the help she needed. A few temporary modifications later (a jetpack module ripped from a suit of lonely power armor) and her animated assistant would be able soar as long as the fusion core could last when the need arose. At the end of the day, she would interchange several sloppily-crafted parts and pieces and Codsworth would return to his small, bulbous form.

Allison liked to think Nate would be proud; she was never as mechanically gifted as Nate was, but she knew her way around a workshop decently enough.

She eyed Codsworth now as he hovered close to the ground across the way, refilling his welding gadget with a fresh electrode. They had worked tirelessly for a week, and they’d only managed to cobble together most of the hexagonal reflector platform. If she had read the blueprints correctly, this was the easiest segment to build.

This was going to take a while.

She sighed, rolled her neck, and flexed her sweaty fingers. The afternoon sun punished every movement with a wave of uncomfortable perspiration, amplified by the dense, protective denim she wore to shield herself from both his rays and the welder’s.

Still, she sympathized with Dogmeat; he did not have the option of shedding his furry coat, but he managed by lurking in the shade of the vacant shells he delighted to thoroughly explore during days where they all lazed about at Allison’s home.

She glimpsed his speeding figure down the street, apparently engaged in the chase of some unfortunate squirrel whose dual tails bobbed with every skittering step. She chuckled at the sight.

After a few moments of break, she positioned her hands before she dropped the face shield and returned to the grind. Through the tinted glass, she guided the electrode along in elliptical circles as it melted in a cooling, orange puddle, white sparks erupting and spattering everything in Allison’s limited sight. This was something she could do well, at least; power armor suits did not repair themselves, and the platoon’s engineers were not always around to reseal seams and tighten loose bolts.

She only paused in the coming hours to soothe her dry throat with water and rummage for another electrode when the old one became too short to be practical. The simplicity of the action eased her mind until her thoughts were but a dull whine in the recesses of her skull, and she relished the peace work bestowed upon her.

Because when Allison was not drilling holes and fusing joints, she was thinking. Thinking about a certain redhead, about what she meant to Allison, and about how to confront her without scaring her off.

When Allison was not assessing possible scenarios for when she finally reunited with Shaun, she was obsessing over every little detail of the redhead, how she swayed her hips when she walked, how a blush as fiery as her hair invaded her cheeks when Allison looked her in the eye for too long.

When Allison was not stockpiling ammunition and weapons for the assault, she was ogling the redhead when she was not looking and, when Allison was feeling cheeky, when she was.

Allison was scared. Obviously, Shaun’s predicament worried her, but that was nothing new; what she feared was a bit more complicated than that.

Allison wanted Cait. And not just in the sheets, though she had to admit she felt a considerable amount of lust towards her companion.

Rather, Allison wanted to _be_ with Cait. Wanted to hold her without restraint and be held without restraint. Wanted to bring a smile to her face and draw a hearty, real laugh with her humor dryer than the liquor Cait downed. Wanted to sleep with her warmth pressed against her and wake with her in her arms. Wanted to give her a shoulder to weep upon when the past would catch up with her and burn a brighter future together. Wanted to love her and be loved by her.

But she did _not_ want to scare her away if the feelings were not mutual. She could live without her love, admittedly in pain, if she could still live with her, but she could not live without her.

So she had stayed silent on that subject for the past week, searching for validation of any returned affections, and subtly experimented here and there. A serendipitous brushing of their pinkies when they had reached for the salt simultaneously. A flirty comment on Cait’s appearance. A smile that was just a little too warm to be shared platonically by friends. Randomly calling Cait “Butterfly”.

All in all, the whole ordeal was handled very immaturely, but it was the only way she knew how.

However, the task at hand ate all of those thoughts up like they were Fancy Lads Snack Cakes and left only the menial drone of concentration swimming in her mind.

She inhaled deeply, nostrils stinging with the acrid scent of smoke, the occasional piece of slag leaping from the molten metal and singeing the denim overalls. She pulled away, lifting her mask so she could properly exchange the rod, and became aware of tentative footsteps behind her. She looked over her shoulder.

“Hey, there. Thought ya might, uh, want somethin’ ta drink.”

Allison noticed the opened beer being offered to her in the outstretched hand. She looked into the uncertain eyes that stared awkwardly at her, and Allison reassured the kind gesture with an authentic smile.

“Thank you.”

She removed the glove from her hand specifically so that Cait could feel their fingers graze together as the bottle transferred hands. Cait’s fingers were cold and clammy compared to Allison’s sweaty, hot ones, and as Allison allowed the touch to linger, she studied Cait’s reaction.

The redhead pursed her lips, averting her gaze to the platform.

“So… How’s it goin’?” Cait asked more out of courtesy than actual interest.

“Fuckin’ slow. This’ll take forever between the size of the labor force and Brian’s ‘handwriting’.” She guzzled the bottle, appreciating the way the carbonation burned away the crackly patches of her throat. “How about you?”

Cait nodded, as if that were an acceptable answer, and stared ahead.

The clink of the bottle touching down on asphalt drew Cait’s gaze back down, and Allison held it steadfast. Cait’s lips parted as if she were to say something, but not even a breath escaped before she closed them again.

Allison frowned. “There something you need, Cait?”

Cait bit her lip in rumination, and though Allison’s eyes remained fixed upon Cait’s, her focus was on her lips. Cait was cute when she was indecisive, her arms crossed tensely, figure drawn into itself, lip pinched between her teeth.

“No, I’m fine.” A poor lie.

“No you’re not. What’s up?” But Cait would not say, just stood there and frustrated Allison with her uncharacteristically adorable evasiveness.

Cait reared to bite back, but realized there was no point to it. Hesitantly, she asked, “When yer done here, can we…? Can we talk?”

There was a gravity to her words, an urgency to spit it out that Allison had only heard in Cait’s tone one other time. Allison nodded vigorously, gravely even.

“Ok, Cait. Whatever you need. Do you want to talk now-?”

“No.” Sheepish at her own interjection, Cait insisted, “No. I need time ta form me words.”

Allison nodded, equally as serious but slower. “Ok. I’ll finish up here, and then I’ll come in.” She reached up and squeezed Cait’s hand, an action not expected by the redhead if her jump at the contact was anything to go by. “You know you can tell me anything, right Cait? I’m here for you always.”

The electricity that stiffened Cait’s limbs dampened, and Cait nodded slightly, releasing Allison’s palm and pivoting wordlessly to speed walk to the house. For once, Allison’s eyes were not glued to Cait’s butt, but to the swishing strands of hair.

“What do you suppose that was about, mum?” Codsworth’s voice drifted over to her, reminding her of his presence.

“I don’t know. I hope she’s okay,” Allison commented anxiously, staring at where Cait had disappeared from view.

“I wouldn’t worry, mum. Miss Cait’s as tough as nails.”

‘ _No she isn’t_ ,’ Allison thought. ‘ _She just acts like it._ ’

But what she said was, “Yeah. Hey, hand me those wire strippers, would you…?”

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait unintentionally slammed the door behind her. Her heart hammering, Cait gripped the couch tightly, fingernails scratching against the smooth fabric as she fought for control over herself.

It happened again. _Allison_ had happened again.

“It” being… something unexplainable, really.

“It” was less a set in stone, defined thing and more of a general consensus, after-the-fact sort of deal. “It” usually ended with Cait’s pulse skyrocketing into a black, starless oblivion, but the more she thought about “It”, the more she liked “It”.

Which, of course, only served to exacerbate the issue of being short of breath, sending her further into the reaches where that something twinkled brighter than stars ever could. “It” was blaringly obvious, but her defenses were sturdy, built over the course of her childhood and well into her adulthood thus far, and had shot down every bit of reason that tried to barge its way straight through her walls.

Or so she had thought.

“It” was when Allison’s finger serendipitously brushed against her own when they reached for the salt simultaneously.

“It” was the assortment of flirty comments on her appearance that she had no witty comeback to, her tongue tied inexplicably in knots.

“It” was all the smiles Allison graced her with that were surely too warm to be shared platonically by friends.

“It” was all the times Allison called her “Butterfly”, but “It” was also the sudden flush of her cheeks in response.

“It” confused her, excited her, knocked her off her guard every time it struck.

She needed to know what “It” was. But more than anything else, she needed to know if Allison felt “It” too.

She inhaled, and she was slowly granted mercy. Cait looked up, inspecting the curves of the television set, the floral pattern of the wallpaper, the shelves housing old-world artifacts, and anything else she could see until she calmed completely.

Cait unstring her laces and kicked away her boots, plopping down onto the couch and staring out the window up the street. Allison had determined that the roundabout would be the most suitable stretch of land to build the teleporter, setting to work as soon as she was satisfied with the quantity and quality of the materials gathered.

Cait was of little use in the construction area, and dedicated her time to patrolling the perimeter, a job just mindlessly boring and easy enough that she could forget about “It”.

Time passed too quickly; before Cait knew it, Allison was clomping up the stairs and throwing open the door with Codsworth in tow.

The sun still shone, but the shadows grew lankier and longer as the sun touched the tips of the rooves to the west. Cait glanced at a clock: six-thirty-something. Allison usually staggered through the front door at a quarter to eight, when they would all eat a late dinner before retiring to their chambers. Allison must have rushed through the work to be here, Cait realized.

“What’s dinner looking like, Codsworth?” Allison queried over the ruffling of the denim overalls she was removing.

“I’ve thawed a tender slab of beef for a stew, and I plan on pairing it with cornbread. Would this sate your appetite, mum?” He tottered along to the kitchen, retrieving pots and pans and other utensils.

“That sounds delicious.”

“Then dinner will be served in an hour.” With that, the burner ignited, metal clinked, and cheery whistling emanated from the kitchen.

Allison popped into view as she rounded the couch and walked to the counter, greedily gulping pitchers of water. Cait attempted to casually glance over at Allison, but found that she was already staring at her.

There was a question in her eyes.

Cait looked the other direction in response. ‘ _I’m not ready yet._ ’

Out of her peripheral, Allison nodded.

“I’m going to clean myself off.”

And then Allison disappeared down the hallway. The rushing of water through pipes filled Cait’s ears, and the mental image of _that_ shower was all she could see. Cait closed her eyes at the memory, head falling to the couch, fingers grasping at her pants as she recalled what Allison looked like naked.

The image was powerful, and she hummed inadvertently as she remembered the kiss that followed. That was by far the most prominent example of “It” Cait had encoutnered. The skin-on-skin contact, the lips that tasted of liquor and Allison, the hands that wandered anywhere they pleased…

And now Cait had gone and gotten herself horny.

She grunted as she grit her teeth; the only privacy she could steal was the bathroom but that was occupied by Allison, so she could nothing but rock uneasily in her seat.

An appetizing odor distracted her from her womanly troubles, and she took in a big whiff. The salty brine of the stew wafted through air, and not a second later, claws scratching incessantly against the door accompanied by whimpering betrayed the presence of Dogmeat. Conscious of the scolding she would receive if she were to allow Dogmeat to suffer any longer, Cait hoisted her body up and allowed the furry bullet passage into their home.

Minutes passed, and with the house brimming with mouthwatering smells, Allison emerged from the hallway, damp hair tickling her shoulders. Cait took this as her cue, and quietly slipped into the bathroom.

More minutes passed, and as Cait slid the door open, annoyed that a little _alone time_ hadn’t assuaged the burning even slightly, she was greeted with easy tunes filtering from the holotape player.

More minutes passed, and finally, dinner was served.

The rippling surface of the soup suddenly became unbelievably fascinating when she remembered that Allison, who was slurping her own meal across the table, was expecting Cait to say something, and subsequently that Cait still could not think of a way to initiate.

Allison had informed Cait that animals possessed an inborn ability to detect anxiety, depression, anguish, and all other forms of mental unrest. Cait believed this, not because she was gullible, but because Dogmeat had not ceased his attempts to quell Cait’s apprehension since the bowls had hit the table.

Allison’s fingers wormed their way into hers, and her eyes darted upward to witness Allison’s face marred with fretful worry.

“Cait? Are you okay?”

Cait frowned, her pulse pounding in the presence of “It.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her tone was too defensive for her preference.

“You’ve taken three sips of your soup in the last fifteen minutes,” Allison stated bluntly.

“Have not.”

“I counted, Cait.”

Cait wasn’t sure whether she was off put by the fact that Allison payed such close attention to her or that Allison was right.

“I’m just not that hungry.”

“You were raving about how starved you were right after your shower,” Allison countered.

‘ _Shite_.’

“What’s wrong, Cait?” After a quiet moment, Allison interrogated. “Is it the soup? Is it… me?”

Allison caught the flicker in Cait’s eyes there and sighed, defeated.

“Alright,” Allison resigned, a little pained but understanding. “I’ll go. If your soup’s gone cold, ask Codsworth to nuke it in the microwave. Goodnight.”

And then Cait’s wish came true; Allison left for her room.

Cait’s appetite never returned, but she knew she needed the food and hated to waste the generous portion she had been given so she rolled up her sleeves and forced herself to chow down.

The savory meal vanished shortly after, but Cait remained seated where she was, lost in thought. Despite her initial motivation to confront her issues, she had elected to run and hide like she always did.

“Mum?” the slightly grainy voice asked timidly.

She pivoted in her seat, demanding, “What?”

Codsworth was cautious with his word choice, reluctant to speak until the right thing to say was summoned by his processors. “I realize this goes unsaid, but Miss Allison is the most trustworthy person I ever knew. It’s clear to both me and Miss Allison that something ails you, and I beg that you speak your mind to her before any unneeded complications arise.”

“’Unneeded complications’? What’s that supposed ta mean, huh?”

“You are only human, mum. It is unwise to bottle up your feelings without an outlet to let them escape. Perhaps you can relieve some of this stress through conversation?”

He shyly retreated, as if Cait would hit him, and added, “Forgive me, mum. It is my programmed duty to make all occupants of this household as comfortable as possible, and I hope I wasn’t incorrect in my diagnosis. Pleasant dreams, Miss Cait.”

Codsworth resumed his chores, stacking plates and dishes and the like.

That did it. If a goddamn _robot_ was calling her a pussy, then a pussy she must be. She inhaled sharply, exhaled just as quickly, then briskly forged a path through the belly of the beast.

 

**ooooo**

 

If there was one thing Allison could count on, it was the bittersweet nostalgia of memories. When her troubles overwhelmed her, sometimes simply thinking of better times was not enough to quash her demons. Sometimes she needed to see them, needed to touch them to ensure that, yes, they actually happened.

She sighed little wistful sighs as she thumbed through the scrapbook. Pages and pages of pictures containing years and years of memories; that was still such an odd thought for Allison, that such a tiny book could contain years’ worth of happiness. Her fingers traced over still-shots, over black and white ghosts that haunted every page and over colorless landscapes only seen in their true hues by her mind’s eye, over enchanted smiles and comical frowns. Over Shaun and Nate, and their neighbors the Whitfields and the Smiths.

It was a book of death. Everything in this book perished on the twenty-third of October. Every single person, every dog and cat, every flitting butterfly, every blade of grass. All dead.

Except her. Except Shaun.

And yet, she was not depressed by this fact, not wholly at least. There was always sadness when reminiscing to better times, but the reality was that it could be worse. She could have joined them, all of them, in their graves, but still she walked the hallowed earth.

She once wished she had, joined them that is; but now…

Now, she was not so sure.

Now, when Cait stood beside her unaware that Allison was aware of her company, finally ready to speak her mind, she was not so sure that that wish had been wise.

“Hey Cait.”

Startled but determined, Cait clambered slowly onto the bed, allowing plenty of opportunities for Allison to tell her otherwise. There were no objections, so Cait positioned herself directly opposite Allison, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, completely insecure.

Allison’s eyes scanned the pages for just a little bit longer, the pads of her fingers reviving every image.

“Those yer family?” Cait asked.

“Some of them. Some are of landscapes and some are of random people.”

“Ya have pictures of random people millin’ about in yer scrapbook there?” Cait inquired, a brow quirked.

Allison smiled faintly, genuinely. “Yeah. This was back before Nate or I joined the military, back when Nate was juggling majors in college. For a while, photography caught his eye. He was pretty good at it too; see here-.”

Allison shifted the book so that Cait could see the pages easier, “This one is using some sort of special filter applied during development. See the defined edges?”

Then Allison frowned. “Or maybe it was this one… Ah, I don’t know. This was his area of expertise, anyways, meaning he’s usually the one taking the picture. There are a few of him in here, mostly family photos. Those are the ones I like the most.”

Cait nodded silently, and Allison could tell Cait was not very interested.

“But,” she closed the book and tossed the album onto the chair in the corner of the room, “that’s the past. You are the present.”

Cait acknowledged her, fiddling restlessly with the hem of her tank top.

“What do you need, Cait?” Allison asked gently.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course we can.”

Cait drew in a brave breath. “This isn’t easy for me ta say, so stay with me, okay?”

“I’m right here.” Allison coaxed, hand slithering into her own. Cait did not recoil in shock, instead welcoming the contact, but Allison could hear the sharp intake of breath.

“That,” Cait indicated abruptly. “Do ya feel that?”

“Feel what, Cait?” Allison asked quizzically.

Cait bit her lip again, and Allison choked back a smile at the sight. “How do I say this? Where ta start… Did ya know I spent three years at the Combat Zone?”

“I believe that’s come up in discussion, yes.”

“Did ya know I fockin’ hated it?”

“You never explicitly told me, but I inferred.”

Cait shook her head. “It’s depressin’ thinkin’ that those weren’t even the worst years of me life. Three years of getting’ beaten ta Hell fer a few caps per night.”

Scorn and spite. “I hated it. I still hate it when I think about it. The only solace was that the other fighters were less than human; serial killers and bottom-of-the-barrel scum, ya know the type. The type that’ll shake yer hand, then stab ya in the back and rape yer corpse. I fockin’ hated ‘em. I…”

Cait hesitated.

“It’s okay, Cait. Take all the time you need.”

Cait squeezed Allison’s hand. “I hated meself,” she admitted in one breath, like this was something new, like Allison would push her away rather than pull her close and cuddle the pain into nothingness.

“So, like the responsible individual I am, I drowned me sorrows in Psycho and alcohol and nicotine.”

Allison didn’t remember Cait sucking down smoke in all her time with her.

Cait recognized the curious look with a sardonic snicker. “Yeah. The one habit I managed ta kick. I was real proud of meself for a while, thinkin’ it was the first step down the road ta a better Cait. But it was no such luck.”

“But you are a better Cait, aren’t you? You curbed all of your habits in the end.”

“No,” Cait’s head rocked side-to-side, gentle and slow but carrying firm confidence that, “No, sweetheart, that was all you. That wasn’t me; I was ready ta give up on meself, but ya wanted it so badly and I wanted it too, so I tagged along for the ride.”

“Cait-.” Curse Allison and her big heart for trying to convince her otherwise.

“That’s not the point. Well, actually, that is the point, but I’ll get ta that. So I got meself hooked on Psycho because I couldn’t find pleasure anywhere else. The people were shite, the location was shite, the food was shite, I was shite. I, well… I-.”

Cait swallowed, then with great difficulty admitted, “I know the barrel of me shotgun better than most, ya might say.”

Cait paused here, waiting for a reaction. Allison’s other hand reached over and gently trailed up and down Cait’s forearm. Her breath hitched once at the contact, and twice at Allison’s words.

“It’s okay, Cait. I understand your predicament.”

Cait nodded.

“But then… I met you. Ya cleared out the Combat Zone good and proper, and though Tommy, the stubborn bastard, will never admit it, he’s grateful ya managed that. We were closer ta hostages than hosts.”

“And then, ya took over me contract. ‘Back in chains’ I thought. ‘Must look good on me’. And I thought it really was the end of the world for me. I might as well say ‘Hello’ to me shotgun one last time.”

“I didn’t. Over time, I got ta know ya, and you got ta know me, and things were smooth sailin’ between us for a while. Smooth enough that ya let me crash at yer pad. So smooth that I thought I could tell about me biggest crutch.”

“Now, until I met you, I had a rule: trust someone, and they’ll betray ya. But I knew I couldn’t do it alone, so I broke that rule. I thought I was a goner.”

Cait shifted a little closer, looking Allison in the eyes with unwavering certainty.

“And I wasn’t. In my time of need, ya coddled me, helped me completely until the end. That’s the first time anyone’s ever done anythin’ like that for me. That’s the most anyone’s ever done for me, period. And ya didn’t ask for a single thing in return.”

“Since then, I’ve… I don’t know how ta describe it.” Cait’s brow furrowed.

“It’s alright. Take your time.” Allison thumb grazed the back of Cait’s palm, and Cait’s breath hitched.

Excitedly, Cait exclaimed, “There, that!”

Allison raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I’ve been feelin’ that for a while now, every now and then. I feel it every time you’re around. It’s been makin’ me see life in a different light.”

“You remember Vault 95? How I was scared what would happen if I couldn’t turn ta Psycho ta give me peace? I haven’t needed it since then because of you. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but you’ve been keepin’ me together these past months. God, it’s been eating me up inside, and I didn’t know what ta call it.”

Cait was pleading now, bearing her all.

“I know I can let ya inside and let ya see me for who I am without judgin’ me because of it, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Listen,” Cait scooched forward, as if to back away from the edge from which her sanity teetered, “I don’t know what it is. But whatever it is, I need ya ta look me in the eyes and tell me ya feel the same.”

Allison remained stunned in silence.

Cait’s voice was breaking. “Please, tell me ya feel the same!”

It was as if Allison’s prayer were answered. This one last dream, this one last hope that Allison had nurtured, had come true. She had expected it to die just like everything else, just like every _one_ else, but it had not. It had blossomed and now the fruits were ripe for the taking, and she could not believe her eyes or her ears.

Eventually she could though, after Cait was driven to near-panic by Allison’s quiet vigil.

“I do.”

Cait froze.

“You do?” she squeeked.

Allison nodded. “I do.”

She extended a tentative hand up to cup Cait’s flushed cheek, while her other untangled from Cait’s grip to land cautiously on her thigh. Allison gazed into Cait’s eyes for a moment, dispelling uncertainty, ensuring Cait was entranced by the same spell that had bewitched her.

The hand on her cheek migrated gradually to the nape of Cait’s neck, the contact electric yet pacifying and soothing. She scooted forward until their knees touched, and leaned in gradually, her eyes on Cait’s lips that parted in anticipation.

“Don’t… hit me, okay…?” Allison breathed.

Cait didn’t say a word, eyes the size of mirelurk eggs, but didn’t protest.

Allison sucked in one last breath, and closed in. She noticed Cait’s eyelids flutter closed as she approached, noticed how her mouth widened just a little bit more, noticed how Cait leaned in without Allison’s aid.

Then after an eternity of searching the space between them, Allison’s lips pressed against Cait’s.

Allison released a contented sigh. Cait tasted just like she remembered: like salt water taffy with smoky hints of whiskey. As her palm ghosted up the exposed flesh of Cait’s thigh, sowing goosebumps in its wake, the fingers of her other hand tangled into the damp matte of fiery red and massaged the base of Cait’s skull.

Just like the time before, Allison lost herself in the kiss. In the tenderness of Cait’s supple lips that meshed against her own. In their hammering heartbeats and their unsteady breathing. In the little moans and gasps and sighs Cait was creating. In the way Cait’s fingers burrowed painfully, wonderfully into Allison’s thighs.

They parted after eons, foreheads pressed together, the rounded tips of their noses rubbing lightly against each other’s. Allison watched as Cait’s eyelids opened with great effort, staring into emerald irises abuzz with vitality. They were both breathing hard, both excited beyond measurable extent.

Through strained huffs of breath, Allison husked, “That word… you were searching for… Its love.”

“Love…?” Cait whined.

The hand that swam through Cait’s hair came to rest on Cait’s cheek.

“I love you,” Allison exhaled, watching intently for a reaction.

“Love…” Cait trailed off.

Cait surged into Allison like the most pleasant tidal wave she had ever endured. Her legs wrapped around Allison’s waist, her arms winding tightly around Allison’s neck to keep her from escaping as Cait mercilessly mashed her lips upon Allison’s. Allison could barely breathe, but rather than nudge her away, she pulled her close, so closely into her because she never wanted her to leave. She wanted Cait in her lap forever, sucking the air from her lungs through her mouth while her powerful thighs crushed her abdomen.

The kiss itself was sloppy in the best possible way; overflowing with passion and saliva in equal measures. A hot tongue bullied its way past her lips, not that they gave much resistance, and into her eager mouth, and Allison’s met Cait’s in the clumsiest, most amazing battle Allison had ever taken part in; Allison hoped beyond reason that she would wake up with bruises and sore lips.

Cait was not escaping this tussle without marks either. The redder the welts created by fingernails that scraped trails of painful pleasure down her back, the louder she moaned and whined and the closer she pressed her lips into Allison’s, pressed her whole body into Allison’s who held there like the most pleasant boa constrictor and squeezed the life and the love through her vocal cords and her tongue.

Allison was already horny when Cait had mounted her and ravaged her; when Cait began whimpering seductively and grinding her hips desperately into Allison’s with long, sensual strokes, Allison’s flood could rival Niagara Falls.

Allison easily inferred that Cait was ready and willing, but she would be absolutely sure before she laid her to bed.

With a pop, Allison separated their lips, but did not back away an inch, did not loosen her grip around Cait’s waist or her back. Cait was confused by the sudden absence of a tongue in her mouth, brow furrowed, and viciously attempted to reunite herself with Allison.

“Woah, Cait, wait!”

Cait waited, but did so with a frown and an eagerness to return to the passion that almost melted through all of Allison’s resolve. Cait’s heated panting against her face was oddly pleasant, and Allison was grateful Cait’s arms remained locked possessively around her neck.

“I just don’t want you to regret anything, Cait. How far do you want to go?” Allison knew the answer, but still smiled when Cait replied.

Absolutely drenched in lust, eyes drowning in adoration, Cait demanded, “ _~You better fockin’ take me all the goddamn way after workin’ me up like that. I won’t regret a damn thing: I- I love you, ya dumb motherfocker~._ ”

Allison grinned, thrilled, and Cait mirrored the wolfish smirk in the instant before she swooped back in to devour Allison once more, that uncontrollable smile laced with that impatient exhilaration that bloomed when someone discovered love for the first time ever.

There was only one other person in the world to Allison, only one other warm body growing hotter to the touch by the passing second, only one other pair of lips bruised and swollen. Allison’s right hand traveled down her lover’s back abused by affection, around her lover’s womanly hips, journeyed up under the hem of her lover’s tank top, and cupped a full breast, thumb grazing Cait’s nipples through the thin fabric of her bra.

Cait’s gyrations increased in tempo, the muscles wrapped around Allison’s neck flexing a little more, and the sounds muffled by the kiss became more guttural. Then, when Allison’s other hand palmed her ass through the shorts, she could take it no more; she pulled away, but her gaze never left Allison’s as she wrestled the tank top over her head and tossed it away.

Allison’s disappeared too, vanishing in a flurry of hands desperate to rid her of her shirt, and not a moment later, Cait’s mouth returned to hers while her hands scrabbled at her back. With one smooth motion, Allison reached behind her, unclasped her bra, and shrugged the garment off, lips never leaving Cait’s hungry embrace. Cait didn’t even bother with the catch on hers; fabric ripped and then Cait’s bra pooled into Allison’s.

Allison relished the feel of Cait’s bare chest against hers; she yearned to look just a little lower and stare, but Cait’s teeth would not surrender her lower lip, so she basked in the tingling wherever Cait’s nipples pressed against her flesh.

Her finger’s suddenly dipped below her lover’s waistband, wandering lower and lower until-

Cait moaned a throaty moan, “ _~Mmmmm, fockin’ hell~_ ,” and Allison never knew an Irish accent could sound so sexy.

-Allison arrived at Cait’s wetness. She rubbed her through the material soaked thoroughly by arousal, tracing circles until her lover ground so erratically into her, mushed their breasts so close together, that Allison hugged Cait tightly for support, quickly twisted around, and fell to the bed so that Allison rested her bulk atop Cait.

And suddenly, with the main event fast approaching, the embrace mollified.

The kisses were softer, sweeter, more loving. The grinding was slower but just as deep. The arms capturing her head remained, but they no longer pulled her into the other woman with bruising force. Rather, they gently influenced her to stay, fingers spreading through her hair and rasping her skull in a manner that drew a satisfied hum of approval from Allison.

She broke away to hover with a compassionate smile above Cait’s darling face. She really was beautiful, with skin like smooth porcelain, and lips even smoother and as red and plump as cherries. A dense smattering of freckles covered the bridge of her petite nose and the cheeks under her gorgeous, viridescent eyes that looked shyly up at her.

“This is your room too, now. You sleep in here with me, okay?” Allison breathed.

Cait looked simultaneously grateful and skeptical. “You’ve given me so much, and ya haven’t asked for a single thing in return.”

“What if I ask for you? Will you give me that?” Allison asked.

Cait stared for a silent moment, lip between her teeth in a way that was driving Allison mad.

She nodded. “Okay. On one condition.”

Allison lowered until she levitated just above Cait’s face, locks tumbling all around until Allison was the only thing Cait could see. Their lips ghosted against each other when they talked. “And what condition is that?”

“I want you. All of ya, not just the little bits and pieces; I want the whole picture with all the bloody details,” Cait heeded gravely, but Allison could only smile tenderly.

“Silly Cait; you already have all of me.”

Allison leaned down for one last long, sizzling, lingering kiss, savoring her lover’s tongue, before she pulled away to plant one on Cait’s cheek, then lowered a little bit to nibble placidly on her jaw.

Allison’s lips swept downward where they locked on the flawless, salty flesh of Cait’s neck. She suckled and nipped, vibrations of Cait’s moans and groans tickling her mouth, and trailed her tongue wherever she traveled.

Allison discovered a sensitive patch in the space just below her lover’s ear and just behind her jaw, and catered especially to this area as her calloused palms journeyed all over Cait’s willing body.

She grazed her lips downward, sucking deeply on the column of Cait’s throat, before giving her neck one last lascivious lick and traveling southward.

Cait’s collarbone was even more sensitive than her neck, and with every swipe of her tongue, Cait’s chest bucked. She smiled as she gnawed affectionately, journeying across the entire expanse of her lover’s collarbone and ensuring the whole, defined piece would wear a curtain of ugly, ravishing hickeys.

She pressed a kiss to her fair chest, and then she was at Cait’s breasts, and my, my, they were _marvelous_. Perfect, delicious globes crowned by pert nipples just begging to be fondled.

Allison descended like a hawk would on field mice, though decidedly slower and more passionate, mouth encompassing as much titflesh as she could while her hands groped and squeezed and massaged.

Cait hummed, one hand gripping the sheets while the other’s fingers were tightly interwoven into Allison’s hair.

She painted her lovers chest with her saliva, teasing and teasing until Cait’s frustration was painfully evident in the way she offered her body up to Allison, so she relieved some of the stress by sucking on one of her lover’s peaks, rolling the other between thumb and index.

She nibbled and flicked the bud with her tongue, earning wonderful sounds that reverberated through her lover’s generous chest, and switched to coat the other nipple in saliva.

“ _~Stop teasin’ already!~_ ” Cait whined.

Allison smirked; the last time she had pleased a woman was a long time ago, but some things one never forgets.

She relinquished her lover’s ravishing chest and continued the journey down a narrow waist that flared out in the most graceful way, like the elegance of an artist’s brush strokes across a canvas. Her lips visited each faintly defined ab, her tongue spilling down every groove and washing over every sensuous curve, exploring the previously unknown, charting the uncharted with her mouth while her lover sighed and wriggled under her.

Especially when her tongue rimmed Cait’s bellybutton; Cait unintentionally released the most adorable, unintentional giggle when she felt Allison’s damp muscle pervade her bellybutton.

Allison glanced upward, surprised, and caught sight of an extremely embarrassed Cait withholding a smile and looking anywhere but at Allison. Her heart, and her core, melted at the sight.

Cait finally conjured the courage to look her in the eye.

“God, I fucking love you. Did you know that?”

And the smile finally broke, a giddy one that exposed Cait’s dimples and crinkled her eyes.

But then her head hit the pillow when Allison resumed her journey. She impatiently pulled Cait’s shorts from her legs, pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the sight of Cait’s bare, sopping pussy.

“ _~Don’t wear panties, huh?~_ ” Allison crooned.

Cait shook her head, breathlessly replying, “Can’t stand the damn things rubbin’ at me cunt.”

“Oh, I meant-,” Allison stuttered when she realized Cait _always_ traveled commando, a fact that stained her own panties more than they already were. “That’s hot.”

The fingers in her hair rubbed at her scalp appreciatively. “I do it for you, ya know.”

“Wait, you do?”

“No.” Cait bit her lip and grinned so lecherously that Allison wondered who was teasing who here. “ _~But I do now.~_ ”

Allison looked down at the captivating sight below her, dramatically licking her lips. Cait shivered, and Allison nestled herself so she was comfortable, wrapping her arms around and bringing in milky thighs. She hoped to be here a while.

She buried her nose in the curls that were a shade or two darker than the hair atop Cait’s head and inhaled deeply. Fresh, like the soap Allison used to clean herself, but retaining a uniqueness that kept it smelling like _Cait_. If it were an option for an air freshener she would buy it in a heartbeat, but then she imagined guests would not appreciate the smell of her lover’s crotch as much as she did, now would they?

She moved lower and examined her appetizing prize. As mouthwatering as the stew, Cait’s pussy shimmered in the dull lamplight, and when she spread her to better view the pretty pinkness, strands of arousal bridged the gap. She licked her lips again, this time an involuntary reaction but nevertheless a welcome one.

But Allison restrained herself, biting on Cait’s sensitive inner thigh hard enough to leave a bruise.

Cait looked down, mouth parted, eyes full of confusion, frustration, and desire.

“ _~Tell me you love me,~_ ” Allison cooed.

“ _~I- I love you,~_ ” Cait stumbled, lost in those seductive eyes staring up at her from between her legs, sucking on the flesh of her thighs.

“ _~Tell me you want me,~_ ” Allison demanded softly.

“ _~I want you. Christ, I want you...~_ ”

“ _~Tell me my name…~_ ”

“ _~Allison…~_ ”

Allison closed her eyes at that, reveling in the lilt on every syllable, reveling in the fact that _Cait_ was saying her name like that.

“ _~Say my name while I fuck you.~_ ”

“ _~Fuck me.~_ ” It was more a command than anything else, and Allison was happy to oblige.

She dipped her tongue into Cait’s molten folds, and both moaned at the contact. Cait was so warm, her arousal so thick and slippery, and her pussy tasted so damn _good_. She tasted of salty, bitter flesh, but there was a rich sweetness there, and Allison liked to think it was caused by all the sweets Cait scarfed.

She watched Cait’s face, eyes shut tight, mouth curved in an “O”, brow furrowed, absorbed in their world, as her tongue swam through velvety folds. And she was saying- no, screaming her name over and over and over as she writhed. Her tongue descended, teasing her entrance, before gliding upward deeply through her to arrive at her clitoris.

Every action had a reaction.

For every time Allison circled her bud with the tip of her tongue, collecting her lover’s delicious arousal, Cait’s heart spiked, her chest heaved upwards, her tits jiggled in the most mesmerizing fashion.

For every time Allison rubbed her entire tongue up the length of Cait’s clit, Cait moaned louder, whimpering her name with that sexy Irish accent Allison was learning to love.

For every time Allison suckled the bud and slurped as much of that sweetness as possible, Cait’s hips bucked, and a new combo of profanities slipped from her lips and into the atmosphere.

For every time Allison’s tongue lapped at all of her, drinking her viscous fluids, Cait’s fingers clutched her hair tighter, pulled her closer until Allison was graciously drowning in her lover.

For every time Allison pushed her wet muscle past the tight ring and as deeply as she could into Cait’s pussy, Cait shuddered and spasmed and groaned.

A product of both Cait’s unwilling abstinence over the months and Allison’s experience eating out, Cait came very shortly after beginning. Her lover’s hips vaulted off the bed, Allison’s name rolling off of her tongue at a higher pitch and volume, her thighs squeezing wonderfully around Allison’s head while a rush of juices escaped from her lover’s drenched cunt. Her lips stayed glued to Cait, sucking up every last drop of cum that dribbled down her chin, working her with her tongue and prolonging her lover’s orgasm until Cait had no breath to scream with. It was a sight Allison would not soon forget, and she was disappointed when it finally ended.

Cait was nearly comatose, panting heavily, buxom chest blocking her view of her lover’s face with every inhale, so Allison pressed tender kisses to her inner thigh until Cait calmed down.

“How was it, butterfly?”

“I… can’t feel my legs…” She huffed, attempting to raise her head to look down at Allison, but she did not possess the energy for the action, so her sweaty head of hair flopped back to the comforter.

Allison chuckled, licking up salty perspiration from between her lover’s thighs. “I hope you’re not finished just yet.”

“Oh… Shite, I’m spent. Sorry,” Cait groaned, regret plaited with every breath.

“That’s okay. I can wait,” and Allison planted a quick kiss right on Cait’s clit.

Cait bucked again, moaning erotically, and Allison smiled devilishly up at her.

“Why you little _~liar.~_ ”

Cat hissed when she felt a mouth return to her sticky pussy. “Ah! Sensitive!”

“ _~Then I’ll just have to be careful,~_ ” Allison cooed seductively.

She grazed the bud, and Cait recoiled, but not as much as the last time. She kissed her again, hands trailing lazily up Cait’s tense abs, then gently skimmed over her lover again.

She continued that process, brushing her tongue light as air over her lover, punctuating every action with a tender, conciliatory kiss, nursing her lover back on her feet. Allison interpreted Cait’s body language, the increasing rise and fall of her chest, the lusty blackness of her pupils that gradually consumed her eyes, the quiet sighs growing into full-blown moans, until she decided Cait had recovered.

A zealous lick accompanied by a whiny, needy groan of pleasure later, and Allison returned with gusto, memorizing the symphony of sensual sounds muffled by Cait’s thighs. Cait was lasting much longer this time around, putting more emphasis in the sway of her hips, chewing her lips, and possessing enough lucidity to put on a titillating show.

As she serviced her lover’s hood, one hand retracted from Cait’s thigh, dancing around her hips until the fingertips waded in arousal, lubricating her digits. She circled Cait’s entrance with a single finger, and prodded the tightness in an unspoken question; the way Cait’s hips rocked into her answered her question.

Her middle finger pushed into her lover’s pussy, sliding easily into her slick heat. Cait moaned as her digit sank all the way to the third knuckle, and as the pulled out all the way, another finger stretched her lover’s tight cunt.

The screaming began as Allison began thrusting, pairing each long, vigorous stroke of her two fingers with a long, vigorous stroke of her tongue on Cait’s clit.

The tempo increased steadily until Allison determined that the rhythm was to Cait’s taste; not too slow as to be insufficient, but not too fast to rush the experience.

Again, Cait matched every move Allison made with her own.

For every full stroke that penetrated so deeply into Cait’s snatch overflowing with lovely fluids, there was a groan, a creative expletive, Allison’s name.

For every thrust where every bump and callous scraped delicious friction against Cait’s velvety pussy, her lover’s cunt released the naughtiest, wettest sounds into the night.

For every time that the pads of those digits rubbed against that spongier spot of concentrated nerves, Cait undulated in unadulterated pleasure.

For every time the fingers splayed and stretched Cait until she was full, her lover’s pussy offered more succulent ichor that streamed down her elbows and her chin to pool onto the mattress.

“ _~I- Fock-!~_ ” Cait tried to warn, and Allison was treated to another trickle of cum as Cait came in her face. Allison could get used to this.

As Cait thrashed and struggled, Allison still pumped at her like a water spout, humming as Cait’s cries petered out until her body sheening with perspiration ceased its carnal flailing. Cait groaned her name when Allison pulled out.

Grinning like a jester, Allison climbed up and over to lay on her stunned Cait, licking her fingers and her face clean of the clear drug she was already addicted to once she was sure Cait’s half-lidded eyes could see her. She encircled Cait in a bear hug, propping her forehead against Cait’s to stare into her dreamy eyes.

“Mmmm, you’re delicious. I think I’ll wrap you up and save you for later,” Allison quipped with a smirk.

A genuine smile spread across Cait’s exhausted face. “Is that an offer?”

“I don’t think you’d have much say in those affairs,” and Allison kissed her as they chuckled, gently yet intensly, communicating all of her adoration in that one move.

Cait licked her lips after they parted, remarking, “Mmm. I do taste good don’t I? _~I bet you taste better.~_ ”

But when Cait attempted to roll them over and seize dominance, she strained for two seconds, then huffed a breath of air through her mouth while Allison watched, amused.

“Ah, bloody hell, ya sucked me spirit through me cunt, you devil,” Cait realized with a frown, but she couldn’t hold the serious expression for much longer when Allison was laughing happily. “Now how am I gonna repay ya, huh?”

Allison bumped their noses. “You can repay me in the morning. Come on, let’s get some shuteye.”

“Yer drippin’ onto me legs, darlin’. I’m thinkin’ ya need it bad,” Cait insisted.

Allison opened her mouth to argue, but an erotic, “ _~Ohhh~_ ” was all that came out, as Cait pushed her thigh between Allison’s legs. She opened her eyes to witness an expression of triumphant smugness, and conceded to herself that, yes, she needed it bad.

Cait noticed the change in expression, hand pulling on Allison’s neck until their mouths collided.

“ _~My face is your throne, darlin’,~_ ” Cait mumbled.

Allison could only nod, lost in grinding her snatch up and down Cait’s slickened thigh. A loud smack reverberated through the halls of their home, the sharp, painful pleasure of her ass being smacked bringing her back to her senses mottled by lust.

Breathing heavily in anticipation, she clumsily clambered over Cait whose nails scored down her back as she ascended, whose mouth captured her breast as it dangled enticingly over her, purposefully coating her tit in spit before releasing it with an audible pop.

Allison gripped the headboard as she positioned her hips over Cait’s face, looking down into Cait’s eyes that twinkled.

“ _~So ya gonna stay there and drip all over me face, or are ya gonna come down here and let me tip yer velvet into next week?~_ ”

Allison lowered herself and oh-!

Oh, that was nice!

The tongue from below knew what it was doing, deciphering every little chink in her armor and exploiting it with so much graceful precision Allison could hardly breathe through the moans being torn from her vocal chords.

The hot, rough wetness rubbed skillfully up and down her hood, skirting around and around while a hand reached up and squeezed her tit.

Then the tongue swiped at her clit directly, forcing cries from her mouth and building pleasure in her loins that traveled up her spine with every brisk stroke, amplified by the little electric tingles that sparked every time Cait rolled a nipple. She could feel her warm fluids streaming from her and into Cait’s mouth as she licked through her folds and poked at her entrance with the tip, rimming her and forcing her to grit her teeth.

She rolled her hips in exaggerated, voluptuous gyrations as Cait’s tongue caressed her entire pussy and brought her so much pleasure and stole from her all the air in her lungs and the love in her heart, glazing Cait’s face and neck.

Allison screamed as two digits entered into her with little warning, plunging deep and immediately falling into a rhythm that persuaded her eyes to roll into her sockets, her hands to almost splinter the headboard with how hard they gripped the wood. She whined her lover’s name when she could between the relentless thrusting that rubbed her insides and the tongue that lapped up everything.

The constant pace that stretched her over and over, that created pure, liquid pleasure wherever it was present, that forced her to screech “ _~Yes, Cait! Yes, Yes, Yes, Ohmyfuckinggodyes!~_ ” was building a pressure between her thighs that cleared her mind of everything but Cait and herself that would surely overflow any second now.

And it did, gloriously so. She couldn’t even vocalize her pleasure, it felt so good, just shuddered as that pressure burst and every bit of her felt a warm, electric bliss fill herself to the brim. She gushed into Cait’s mouth, breathlessly squealing as Cait prolonged the explosion of pleasure in her stomach that blinded her with its brilliance.

An eternity later, and she became aware that she was leaning against the headboard, completely depending on it to hold her up. Arms wrapped protectively around her waist as a naked chest pressed up against her from behind, lips mushing against her shoulder.

“I was right, ya know. You taste better.”

Allison smiled, gradually repossessing some strength and pushing away from the headboard, and pivoted flexibly in her embrace coming around to see Cait’s face smeared with her fluids.

“Wanna see for yerself?” Cait asked.

Allison leaned in without warning and sensuously slathered her lounge over Cait’s cheeks, her jaw, and all around her neck before claiming her lips and cleansing her tongue. Personally, Allison thought Cait tasted better, but she wouldn’t argue now.

With great effort, the two lovers located a spot on the mattress that was not soaked with their excitement, and slithered beneath the covers. Cait was drained; the moment Allison flicked off the lamp and lovingly cuddled closer, Cait zonked immediately.

Cait’s rear nestled snugly into her hips, back pressed against her front, Allison wrapped her arms possessively around her lover’s tummy, cherishing the ease at which they snuggled together. Her hand would likely lose feeling overnight, with her waking up to pins and needles jabbing her fingers.

‘ _That’s okay_ ,’ Allison thought in the darkness just before sleep welcomed her, mouth swimming in fiery red tresses, bare skin pressed against the most beautiful woman in the world, ‘ _I imagine they’ll be plenty of opportunities in the morning to work the kinks out_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a review and I'll make sure to keep writing more chapters!


	9. A Wonderful Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, but I'm shooting for quality over quantity. That said, this will hopefully be the shortest chapter.

Cait awoke from the best night’s slumber to the best morning’s idle rest, that limbo between sleep and lazy consciousness that she’d only ever experienced a handful of times.

There were no night terrors that beleaguered her soul with their inevitable talons that crushed the life from her body that still breathed. There were no horrid cacophonies of Mama’s screeching words that shivered her self-esteem until all thoughts of self-dependence and of escape were splintered pieces on her grimy floor painted with tears. There was no stinging pain from dreadful gashes awarded by Papa when he’d found the noose she’d tied to carry her body from torment.

There was none of that.

Now, there was only Allison. _Her_ Allison.

There were dreams of flitting butterflies in sun-soaked fields, of a world so perfect and a person equally so that inspired life in her heart that pumped with joy. There was the hot breath that stirred the strands of hair atop her head, silent, but communicating all that couldn’t be with words with her delightful presence that invigorated Cait and lent her the strength to battle the whole continent and win. There was the warmth Allison radiated, the loving heat that flourished through their meshed skin and cooked them beneath fleecy blankets, the muscular arms bundled around her tummy, the thick thighs woven together, the wide hips cradling her wide tush.

There was all of this and more.

A halo of sunlight ruffled the edges of the curtains, informing Cait of how late they’d slept in. The tempered glow streamed over the walls facing Cait, shedding rays onto peaceful pictures and flowery designs.

Cait wondered if this was what life was like before the war. Tranquil and calming, like the strangers in the photos. No room for abusive parents or the shackles of slave gangs. She wished she’d lived in an age like that.

But then Allison exhaled deeply, and Cait knew all she needed, all she wanted was already here, and the vane pining for better times vanished as they arrived.

Allison shifted, just a little, then snuggled closer to Cait, arms wrapping tighter, breasts squashing more intimately, face burrowing into hair clingy with dried sweat.

Cait smiled broadly when a hand crawled to find hers, fingers lacing together, thumbs rubbing at palms. Allison hummed contentedly.

They lay there for too long, muscles cramping, restlessness settling in, but they enjoyed every last moment. Enjoyed the tender caress of their flesh, the warmth of each other’s bodies and emotions that swirled until neither knew whether this was a real fantasy or a fantastic reality. Enjoyed the quiet neutrality that only ever existed in short bursts. Enjoyed the distant tinkering of Codsworth and the faint barking of Dogmeat on the hunt.

Eventually, Allison’s face peeked from over Cait’s shoulder, cheek nuzzling cheek, and Cait could feel Allison’s contagious grin, feel the vibrations as she spoke.

“Good morning, Butterfly.”

Cait squeezed her hand, tightened her legs’ hold around Allison’s, and cuddled into her.

“Good mornin’, Sunshine.”

Lips pressed to her jaw gently, gliding centimeters upward after a long while to place another lengthy kiss to her cheek, sucking the flesh and a giddy smile out of Cait. Then soft lips teased the corners of her own, and she twisted her head to receive Allison’s gift.

Allison’s were tender and supple, dainty even. They were lips from a time where everyone was soft and coddled, where bodies weren’t hardened by constant radiation, battered into resistant shells. They were lips that knew how to kiss, where to press to ensure the wet contact was lingering. They were lips Cait wanted to keep, to envelope them in hers to protect them from weathering in the harsh environment and ensure they would always be tender and supple and dainty.

Cait’s free hand had tangled into the hair at the nape of Allison’s neck without Cait’s permission, but Allison only smiled and palmed Cait’s face in return, so Cait’s digits rooted firmly, almost permanently.

Allison tasted of morning breath and stale pussy, but it tasted of Allison. All those things, the sourness, the saltiness, the bad aftertaste, all combined with the tangible warmth, the beef stew from last night, the sheer reality that Allison was leaning into her, tongue slathering her own, body weight crushing her; it all culminated into a diverse fusion of flavors that reminded Cait that Allison was human, that she wasn’t perfect, that she possessed the capacity for so much violence, but that wasn’t afraid of any of it, of her flaws or of the outside world.

She was strong, and brave, and a just a tad righteous when such an act could be afforded.

Cait _loved_ Allison’s taste.

And then the gravity of what was happening rammed into her, pulling the wind from her lungs, throwing her into a pleasant daze.

Cait had someone to love.

This wasn’t supposed to happen; Cait was destined for lifelong misery, to die at the hands of some jackass she’d underestimated. Cait wasn’t supposed to revel in the flavor of another’s lips, hear the thudding of her heart against her ribcage at another’s touch, gaze soulfully into another’s eyes that shone with affection that rivaled her own.

But it was happening. The impossible, wonderful truth was that Cait loved someone who loved her back. Who _actually_ loved her back, not in some distorted, evil, selfish fashion.

Cait had a home.

A real home, not a backroom cluttered with litter and stifling indifference, not a grungy basement with a “bed” and a makeshift lantern that wouldn’t light when the cold winds froze through.

This was _home_ , a place where she was received with hospitality, a place with good food and clean water. A place safe from scavengers with malicious intent. A place where her lover would always be.

A home and a lover.

Cait was so, so happy.

Goddammit, she’d better not start crying.

Allison’s lips pulled away, a thumb wiping carefully at the corner of her eye.

Through blurry vision, Cait noticed Allison’s frown.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Cait nodded, sniffed, “Just- hold me?”

Allison obeyed without a word, forehead against hers, embrace tightening, red tresses pouring onto Cait’s fragile skin.

“ _~You are my sunshine, my only sunshine._

_You make me happy, when skies are grey…~_ ”

Cait consciously muted her breathing so she could absorb every syllable. The melody was quiet, lulling, pleasantly surprising. Her pulse tranquillized, the lyrics like a dazzling beacon to a ship lost in the labyrinth of white-water rollers during the blackest of midnights. Her eyelids drifted shut.

“I love it when ya sing for me. Ya have the most beautiful voice.”

Allison grinned. “I guess I’ll have to do it more often, then.”

“That would be nice.”

Allison pecked her lips, and a smile spread open with Cait’s eyelids.

“I love you.”

Chills down her neck, down her spine, that were instantly melted away by Allison’s body heat.

“I love ya, too.”

And they kissed again, heads rocking in rhythm with their tongues, satisfied with their positions for a few moments of transfixing rapture.

Which became a few more moments.

Which became a few more moments.

Ten minutes passed before either of them realized it, hair a shaggy mess, necks aching from the awkward angles.

Mirthfulness twinkled in Allison’s eyes as they parted, lips slobbery and shy grins persistent.

“Can we, uh… keep doin’ that?” Cait asked hesitantly, despite Allison’s kind demeanor.

“What,” Allison asked, “making out?”

Cait nodded tentatively, supplying an involuntary smile and “I really like it.”

Allison responded as Cait expected: with more warmth than crackling campfires and more affection than had ever been heard by anyone before.

“I’d love to.”

Allison retreated, but only long enough that Cait could lay prostrate on the mattress. Allison gracefully clambered on top of her, descending so softly, like Cait was of fine china, knees nudging Cait’s legs apart so she could comfortably relax. Bare breasts pressed against bare breasts, rippling, creamy stomach atop rippling, creamy stomach, thighs teasingly rubbing inner thighs, two pairs of hands with fingers locked in two overgrown forests of fiery hair.

Then, finally, lips smiling confidently pressed against lips grinning dopily.

Cait had experienced prolonged make-out sessions before, but they always preceded sex, or some other mundane task Cait was trading sex for. However, there were no feelings then, no spark that ignited a flame in her heart rather than in her crotch.

This was new. And exciting, and fresh.

The promise of sex was not as explicit, though the miniscule grinding of their crotches would likely- hopefully- lead to more. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the well of emotion she waded through, the spark that exacerbated with every kiss, every transfer of breath that stoked her flame.

What mattered was the faint, frequent noises, the sighs and the borderline moans. What mattered was the attentiveness to Cait, the caution that she was handled with, as if Allison thought Cait the most priceless artifact, the most elegant piece of glasswork, the most exquisite pastry that ever was.

Cait had killed such senseless people who had dared to label her “fragile”, but now, when Allison cosseted her like wrapping paper around a brittle Christmas ornament, like a man of religion preserved his bible, she felt worshipped. Like Allison kissed the ground she walked upon. Like she really thought Cait was the most priceless artifact, the most elegant piece of glasswork, the most exquisite pastry that ever was.

When they parted eons later, panting for breath, Cait gasped, “Thank you.”

“For… For what?” Allison’s words were interrupted by sighs, face flushed red.

Cait swallowed, but it was easier to say than she’d thought it would be.

“For lovin’ me. For givin’ me a place ta rest me head. For doin’… this.”

Allison kissed her, the contact too fleeting for Cait’s preference.

“You don’t have to thank me for any of it,” Allison murmured, kissing her again before Cait could speak.

“But I do, _~mmh~_ ” Cait’s mouth pursed as Allison’s lips dipped to cover her neck in gentle kisses, her lover’s palms gently lifting at her nape to expose more flesh to spread her affections.

“You’ve- You’ve given me… a second chance,” Cait whispered, mouth agape as tender wetness pocked over the column of her throat. “Ya gave me… another chance…”

As Allison’s head shook “No”, the tip of her nose stroked her neck like butterfly kisses. “It was up to you to help yourself. I lent a helping hand here and there, that’s all.”

“I’m tryin’ ta thank ya… _~for fock’s sake~_ …” and Cait was finding the act of breathing difficult as Allison clamped around that area just under her ear, just behind her jaw, just where the skin was the most sensitive. Cait’s ankles rubbed Allison’s haunches in tune with every lap at that area, with every suckle of her skin.

“And I’m telling you that you don’t need to thank me,” Allison insisted, thumb kneading at that area on the other side of her head, body gyrating slightly, and Cait was in heaven.

“Ya never asked… ta repay… you…” Cait breathed.

“I did want repayment, remember? I wanted you,” Allison suckled, then husked, “and I have you, now. You gave me what I’ve wanted for a long time, Cait. You’ve repaid me.”

Cait knew Allison was bullshitting, trying to ease Cait’s conscience, but an aching splinter of doubt still remained.

“I… I… Last night… Me, twice… You…” Cait was losing herself, and Allison hummed a chuckle.

“You came twice, and I came once? That it?” Allison mumbled, understanding the gist of Cait’s strangled message.

“Yes… _~Yes~_ …”

Again, Allison chortled. “I eat your pussy because I love you, not because I expect a return on any favors.”

Cait moaned openly, suddenly, when Allison rocked roughly into her hips once, then settled into an easy, even pace.

“I derive pleasure from giving you pleasure. I can show you, if you want.”

But that was the issue; so did Cait. She didn’t anticipate this about love, about just how intensely Cait would enjoy seeing Allison getting off, but now her biggest turn on wasn’t a pair of too-tight jeans, of muscles glossed with sweat or some other foolish shite.

Not anymore, at least; now Cait’s arousal was maxed when Allison’s was, when her lover pleaded her name over and over, when her lover writhed around Cait’s tongue, when her lover’s orgasm clenched around her fingers and her face would exhibit raw passion.

Allison’s head of hair attempted to sink down, but Cait brought her back up to her face with arms renewed of strength.

Determined green irises met confused green irises, and Cait held the stare for a moment.

“I love ya, too, remember?” Cait asked.

Allison frowned but smiled, like the answer was obvious, “Of course, Butterfly.”

“Your pleasure brings me pleasure, too.”

Despite quoting her own words, Allison didn’t understand.

Cait couldn’t give her an example because Codsworth whirled around the corner, completely without shame and completely disregarding the fact that they were _this_ close to more sensational sex.

That last bit _highly_ irritated Cait.

“Jolly morning, mum! Can I start breakfast?” the butler tootled.

Allison grumbled low, like a predator ready to pounce, and Cait was wishing she were the scrumptious meal rather than the metallic annoyance that would taste much less like sugary warmth.

Allison glanced at the clock.

“Wouldn’t it be closer to lunch?”

“Brunch it is then! What does the missus wish to eat?”

Cait heard the quiet, “I’m good with what I have,” and she grinned lecherously, fingertips lost beneath the covers to tease plump globes.

“What takes the longest to make?” Allison asked.

“I hardly see why- Oh.” The blush was audible.

“If you prefer alone time,” Codsworth drawled, “I suppose I could botch a set of eggs and sausage, mum,” the robot offered.

“Splendid.”

 

**ooooo**

 

The whispers of the steamy water pattering the floor couldn’t compare to the whispers of her lover from behind.

Smelling like sex and laundry detergent, the women decided a shower was necessary to rinse off the filth and start anew. While Codsworth buried himself in brunch, Allison buried herself in Cait.

Cait stood on unsteady legs, feet spread, knees wobbling, hunched over, while Allison took her from behind. An arm wrapped around her tensing stomach and corralled her tightly to Allison’s rack, the other journeying south and working Cait’s core until she was a blubbering mess.

Hot water seared the both of them, hair plastering to their scalps, bodies glimmering with the light supplied by the stark bulb, muggy mist eddying from the nozzle just like that shower from before, though the dancing was less intimate then.

Allison’s mouth gnawed that one area, clutching the flesh between pearly whites, then humming when Cait whimpered, crooked her neck so Allison’s access was easier. Had the deluge of water not sheened the surface of their foreheads, sweat surely would’ve.

Cait’s head rolled back, pushing into Allison’s shoulder; Allison was quite literally buried in Cait. Index and middle fingers were almost past knuckle deep, palm mashing her clit, her other hand navigating upward to grasp a tit while still providing enough support that Cait needed.

Cait moaned as fingers wriggled deep inside her, feet inching farther apart, ass pushing into Allison’s crotch, spine arching. Her lover was suspending her on the edge, teasing her with friction, then halting before Cait could release. The ordeal was driving her insane, like tickling her feet with a feather but restraining her from laughing.

But at the same time it was _so_ good; she was loving shower sex more and more by the minute as she was denied what she needed, leaving her wailing like a depraved animal. It all would’ve been over long ago had Allison just finished her, and Cait appreciated every stroke that taunted her, that trawled on while she was marooned in ecstasy.

Everything about this, about Allison, was delicious.

The heat that smoldered atop her shoulders, trickled down her breasts, encased her in toastiness felt delicious against her reddened skin.

The body that manipulated her, that ground against her and pinched and massaged her tits left a savory aftertaste, and she licked her lips puffy from too much use earlier in the morning to gather all she could of Allison and taste her.

The wet tingling of her neck being ravished, the words and sweet nothings being crooned into her ear filled up her heart, and she hummed and sighed and groaned and smiled so that Allison would keep feeding her more of this.

The friction generated with every thrust that plunged into her, that strummed against that spot inside her that produced a melody- Allison’s favorite melody, she was whispering now into her ear- of moans and whimpers, was so gob-smackingly delicious.

The massaging of her insides that Allison committed to once Cait could no longer handle any more thrusting, that wonderful stretching of her walls that filled her up with writhing, skillful fingers and reminded Cait that Allison was deep inside of her, had her drooling for more.

If Cait was in heaven before, she didn’t know where the hell she was now. She could take no more without risk of real deliriousness setting in; the pressure that built in her loins, that rolled her eyes into her skull, that drew a quiver and a moan with every stroke, was about to blow.

“ _~B-b-baby… Need ta… Gonna… Fock…~_ ” Cait whined.

“ _~Do you want to cum, Butterfly?~_ ” Allison rasped like the water pelting her raw skin.

Cait nodded longer than she needed to.

“ _~Tell me you want to cum, Butterfly. Tell me like you told me to fuck you.~_ ”

“ _~Make me… c-cum!~_ ” Cait splurted out.

The sound of flesh on flesh overpowered the sound of water cascading as Allison picked up the pace, thrusting like a madwoman. Cait hoped that smartass little robot fucker could hear them.

Cait could only choke out phrases, moans, “ _~A-Alli-!~_ ” as the pressure erupted and she was thrown into a world where everything was bliss. The thrilling warmth surged from her crotch where Allison still pumped at an almost frantic pace, surged down her thighs to her knees that bowed inward, down to her toes that curled. The pleasure swelled into her stomach and filled her to brim, swelled to her hips that rocked and ground and wildly bucked, swelled into her lungs that tried to holler but couldn’t. The erotic euphoria gushed into her heart that almost burst, gushed across her fair chest where it was magnified by an appropriate roll of the nipple, gushed down her shoulders and into her fingers that scrabbled desperately at Allison, holding her close.

Cait was fairly certain something gushed from down low as well, walls contracting and seemingly spurting excitement hotter than the water around her, but all of her body was ablaze, so she promised to check in later.

Her orgasm extended longer than she’d ever thought an orgasm could, the tremors seizing her thighs, the fingers inside still moving and draining everything from her.

She rode down the gentle slope of her receding climax, panting with her head lolled against Allison’s shoulders.

“You’re really loud,” Allison murmured into her ear, nipping her lobe. “I like that.”

“Mmmmh,” Cait hummed as Allison pressed chaste kisses to her cheek. “Keep fockin’ me like that, and Diamond City’s gonna here us.”

“I welcome the challenge,” and they cuddled, Cait relaxing into Allison whose arms reached around and swaddled Cait’s as they swayed side to side.

The water numbed them, and Allison increased the heat until the searing buzz returned and they both sighed.

Cait turned in her arms, greeted by Allison’s smiling mug staring down at her. Their lips collided into a compassionate kiss, fingers hinting over the skin of their necks, their cheeks, their spines, their arms.

Allison tasted so good.

This time around, Allison was the one to groan as Cait fed from her collarbone like a vampire in one of those guilty-pleasure monster movies, painting blues and purples, and kissing her creation when it was complete.

Allison wisely didn’t attempt to push Cait away, because Cait would’ve fought her to the end.

Allison was suddenly pressed against the cool shower wall as Cait slouched over, a boob in each hand, thumbs twirling and mushing and flicking the nipple that wasn’t being gargled in Cait’s mouth.

“ _~Cait…~_ ” Allison groaned, pitch shrill, fingers raking down her back. Had her nails not been clipped and filed, they would’ve scraped bloody trails, and Cait wasn’t convinced that was a bad thing.

Damn, Allison tasted good.

Like flesh, of course, but also of that subtle reality that Allison was getting hot and bothered, that every smooth swip of her tongue around her areolas brought Allison happiness. She alternated nipples, kissing each bud goodbye, squeezing her breasts one last time before she continued.

Allison’s breath spiked as Cait lowered onto her knees, as her hands washed over her defined abs, as Cait looked at her pussy like a five-course meal and she’d been lost in the desert for two weeks.

Cait only ever dropped to her knees for a select few people. The position disadvantaged her, eliminated most of her ability to fight back should they choose to initiate one. As such, only a couple of the prettier back-alley hookers, a particularly handsome caravan guard, and her old, toxic flame had ever witnessed Cait in such a vulnerable state.

But anyone could convince Cait to drop to her knees if they ogled her like Allison was now.

There was lust, and lots of it, lurking in her gaze, but the lust was not pure. Tainted by gold speckles of adoration, Allison’s eyes stared into her own, kind and loving, but brimming with frustrated anticipation. Her fingers extended, brushing Cait’s dimpled face, along her cheek, along her jawline.

Cait stared back up, eyes glinting, conveying what she wanted to do to her, what she was _going_ to do to her. She took the thumb that casually traced her lips into her mouth, suckling like it was a teat.

When the thumb pulled out, a string of saliva bridged the gap, and, ensuring Allison was watching, Cait severed it with a swish of her tongue, then chewed her lip. Cait’s self-control silenced a chuckle when Allison’s mouth parted reflexively; Cait had noticed the action’s effect on her lover long ago.

Cait’s focus returned to her prize, and she scooted forward, pushing Allison’s knees apart. Fingers dipped down the ruts between her abs, smoothed down her side, outlined her vast hips before halting on either side of Allison’s thighs.

Allison wasn’t exactly curvy, but she sure was athletic, with shoulders broad and strong, arms dense with muscle, abs very present and very appealing, thighs thick and powerful. Her pretty face didn’t seem to match her rather masculine build or the cool, unsympathetic demeanor she usually sported.

However, when Cait kneeled between her legs, carnal desires influencing her senses, all she could see was her beauty. Her long, slender throat. Her eyes gorgeous and vivid. Her breasts full and round that rose and fell with her breath. Her hips wide and mounting an ass that could make supermodels stop and stare. Her thighs thick and powerful…

Cait had a thing for thighs. Sure, a plump ass was pleasing to the eyes and a buxom pair of breasts were fun to lick like a lollipop, but thighs? Mm, mm, _mm_ , Cait loved a juicy pair of thighs she could lose herself between. And Allison had a pair as succulent as they came.

A patch of fiery pubic hair nestled just above the goods and she inhaled Allison’s musk that persevered through all of the water. A kiss to their, then she munched briefly on both of Allison’s divine thighs.

Confident she was dining at the equivalent of a five-star restaurant, or however many stars Tommy used to rate things with, Cait leaned in.

The first passionate lick drew out the shudders and a small, adorably pathetic moan. Digits knit themselves in the damp net of tresses, more for support and grounding than guiding. Because Cait didn’t need guiding; she’d been around the block a few too many times to mess this up.

Cait’s tongue dove into her meal- she preferred desert first, anyways- and she was reminded once again that hot _damn_ Allison tasted good. Juices collected on her tongue, with that unnatural sweetness that must’ve been unique to the Pre War people. She’d never tasted anyone as sugary, and Cait’s sweet tooth was well known. In certain respects, Allison almost resembled Nuka Cola, and Cait slurped all of her up.

She stroked steadily up through her folds, ignoring her lover’s clitoris in the same game she’d played last night. Allison was wet beyond compare, and Cait planned on sucking her dry of all of those sweet, delectable fluids that dripped and dripped.

Cait could hear the sigh of relief and the following moan when her lips encircled Allison’s clit, could see her brow furrowed in unrestrained pleasure through the valley of her tits where hot water poured over and spattered Cait’s face.

Cait’s ministrations were slow, a deliberate lapping at her clit, up the bud’s hood, then gradually, vigorously returned.

Allison steadily whimpered, “ _~Yes… Yes…~_ ” with the occasional, “ _~Ohhh, Cait… Yes…~_ ”

Cait’s tongue was circling, arousal rushing in bursts and diluting in the water trailing down milky thighs. Cait knew Allison loved the rough texture of her tongue, knew from the way her hips tried to follow every stroke that rubbed at all of her, at her entrance, through the ocean of honey, and finally scathing against her clit.

The pace increased, and Cait was sucking at her too, pulling her liquids, her sensitive clitoris, her pink petals, her moans, and, if the expression Allison wore was indicative of the truth, Allison’s very mind and sanity into her mouth, swirled it all with her tongue, then released.

Then she sucked all of it in again, lashed wickedly with her muscle, spawning tremors and quakes and throaty, needy moans and groans wherever her talented tongue fondly abused her lover’s clit, then released. Then she did it again, and again, and again because Allison was asking for “ _~God, Yes Cait, more! More, please, Cait! Please, more!~_ ” and who was Cait to refuse?

The tips of two fingers wormed between her lover’s thighs, trailing around the ring of muscle, and prodding at the entrance, dipping in just enough to stretch Allison open, but not enough for her to feel anything.

Cait sucked hard on Allison’s clit as her fingers slipped up and in without difficulty, warmth surrounding her digits.

Allison could only stutter Cait’s name at this point.

Just like the night previous, Allison was so _tight_ , but so willing and accepting. So much so that Allison seemed to pull Cait’s fingers in.

Sloppy smacking joined the chorus of unfiltered pleasure as Cait began thrusting, envying her fingers as they slid in and out of gooey heaven. The pace was quick, but not lightning fast, just as Cait liked it, and Allison appeared to agree with her.

Cait was hitting as deep as she could, and with every loud retreat, she curled her fingers in search for her lover’s G-spot, finding the shallows where it lay. Allison’s hips bucked as her pads passed over an area textured different than the surroundings, and Cait pinpointed and attacked viciously.

“ _~Fuck, Cait! Just like that, right there, right fucking there… oh, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck…~_ ”

Allison’s reaction spurred her forth, and Cait redoubled her efforts.

Allison was so silky smooth on the inside, so wet and hot and tight, so soft and appetizing and so, so sweet, she just couldn’t unlatch her lips from her clit, couldn’t cease the selfish slurping of all things Allison, couldn’t slow the rhythm that pushed deep and rubbed everywhere that needed to be rubbed.

And then Allison was climaxing, a flood of juices dripping down her quivering thighs and Cait tried to lap them all up, noticing how her cum was so much sweeter.

“ _~Oh, OhohohohCait, I’m cumming!... And cumming… and cumming… and cumming…~_ ”

Allison spasmed regularly, pushing Caits face further into her pussy but Cait was already pushing so deeply with her fingers in pursuit of that nectar that Allison choked and almost sobbed on pleasure. Pleasure that ripped screams from her throat that she would’ve offered anyway. Pleasure that blinded her behind a sheet of white. Pleasure that rocked her hips and ground her crotch and razed her entire body with warm ecstasy. Pleasure that filled her with love.

Cait only stood when she was certain Allison wouldn’t topple, and as soon as she was level, arms encompassed around her in an embrace as syrupy as she was. Fingers stalked up and down Cait’s arms, lips pressed to the side of her head while the purr of the shower cocooned them in a toasty embrace.

The bulbous point of Cait’s nose trailed lethargic paths over Allison’ shoulder, over her neck with too few marks and signatures declaring where Cait’s territory expanded, over her jaw, and finally over Allison’s happy lips.

She claimed them after eons of teasing, fingers diving through her own fiery hair dimmed by water’s repressive touch.

So this was love.

Tender kisses and compassionate hugs. Lusty moans and an addicting heat. Knowledge that someone else, someone special, belonged to her, and that she belonged to someone else, to someone special. Total trust in her special someone, trust that they would never break that trust.

She’d cringed away from couples in the past, from the claws of disgust and envy. She’d barked and yapped about how love was a weakness and how she’d never take a bullet for anyone else as long as she lived.

But now, when Allison was kissing her like that, when _her_ Allison was wrapping her up and holding her like the rarest, most valuable jewel in the entire Commonwealth, Cait knew she was wrong.

They parted only so they could speak, share faintly embarrassed smiles, and find softness and humanity in their gazes.

“We should probably go check in on those eggs, huh?” Allison mumbled.

Slyly, “Or we could stay here for another round or two. Or four.”

Allison grinned, kissed her chastely. “After breakfast. Or brunch. Whatever the hell Codsworth wants to call it.”

Cait conceded; her stomach rumbled with the images of fresh food.

Moments later, their hands tangled through sudsy locks, scrubbing and scouring each other, though they’d only showered just last night. However, their hair clodded together in stringy strands of dried sweat, and so they massaged each other’s scalps, kneading hair and loosing satisfied groans.

Having Allison’s hands caress her shoulders and her neck was downright erotic as Allison stood closer than she needed to, hands passing down her arms, over her shoulder blades, down her spine. Polishing her breasts so receptive to play, her abdomen, fingers wandering all over every ab, wandering over her hips, sensually washing over her pert asscheeks.

Allison knelt to run her hands over her thighs, her knees, her calves, and Cait’s heart leapt whenever Allison pressed an affectionate kiss onto soapy flesh. She was actually worshipping her at this point, but Cait couldn’t find a problem with it.

Cait returned all the motions, the lasting touches, the kisses that taunted her lover until they forced themselves to turn off the faucet or else they’d never leave the bathroom.

Not an entirely unwelcome predicament, but Cait thought the bed might provide a comfier place for such a… tiring activity.

 

**ooooo**

After unsheathing waves of droplets with fluffy towels, the two discovered that Codsworth’s jesting held some truth; he really had overcooked an egg and tossed the charred remains into a receptacle.

The final product, however, was a pair of omelets dappled with misshapen peppers, saccharine mutfruits, and onions that looked like no onions Allison had ever seen before. Still, as always, the meal satisfied with a variety of flavors Cait hadn’t thought possible, and as she scarfed down brunch, she thanked her lucky stars that she’d happened across such a rich establishment as this.

The crumbling hotels and the mock-up manors that claimed “luxury” held nothing over this house; sure, the square footage paled in comparison, but the issue was one of quality over quantity. Why would she ever want a spacious suite in the snobby stands of Diamond City, if all they amounted to were glorified shanty shacks?

Especially when she could tread upon carpet that fondled the weary soles of her feet, when she could lay to rest in a bed so spongy she could submerge herself in the cushiony mattress and never awake, when she could chow meals drummed up by a professional chef?

No, Cait preferred Allison’s humble abode over the “extravagant” digs flaunted by pompous assholes out of touch with the state of the world.

“So,” Cait sighed, reclining in her chair with a full belly, “Ya headin’ out ta work on big ugly?”

Allison chewed the last of her meal, the fork tinking against the plate. She appeared thoughtful, ruminating over some aspect that involved Cait, if how her eyes stared at her was any indication.

A slim, barely-perceptible shake of her head preceded, “No. Not today.”

“Then what’re we doin’, captain?”

Her hand crawled across the table, and when Cait’s fingers interwove, Allison said, “I think I’ll spend it with you. I need a break, and I think I’ve earned one for now.”

“Sounds fine ta me, _lover_ ,” Cait smiled. “So what do two bored women do on a fine summer’s day?”

Allison smirked crassly. “Besides fucking?”

“Well,” Cait mediated, “Maybe not _besides_. Maybe fockin’ could be more… like a reward.”

Allison rolled her eyes.

“Maybe somethin’ like: whoever shoots the most cans gets to be on top. Or maybe we wrestle arms and whoever wins-.”

“You just want sex, don’t you?”

Cait grinned, leaned forward to pronounce her cleavage. “Can ya blame me, darlin’?”

Allison’s thumb jumped the veins and the knuckles of Cait’s palm, turned her over and trekked through the creases and over the blisters. She squeezed affectionately.

“No. I guess I can’t.”

She looked around, at the cupboards and at the shelves.

“Have you seen ‘The Red Menace?’”

 

**ooooo**

 

Night had arrived, the entire wasteland hushing as the predators emerged from their dens to slink and hunt those unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle of the blackness. A stark ebony veil glittered with dots of bright white complemented the pale orb just beginning the rise to its throne. The house was dark, save the lamp in their bedroom, and everything hid in plain sight, in the blackness that harbored anything.

The curtains were closed, swishing to and fro, obscuring the inside from the sinister outside that lurked like demons around a sacred chapel. Codsworth was dormant in the washroom, burning blues and oranges sedated and providing only enough lift to prevent the jolly robot from scuffing the floor.

In the living room, the television set blared, screen casting crisp light in a wide, outward cone. Moving characters flashed brilliantly, shimmering reflections overtaking the pictures that hung on the walls, glistering off of chrome pots and pans, bathing all in scenes from a movie two hundred years old.

This particular film was a Silver Shroud remake of the comic book. It was pretty good, but the original material would always be better.

Cait’s head nestled cozily in Allison’s lap while the Shroud rambled on about violent justice and protecting the innocence. Allison wasn’t focused on the film either, the monotonous blabbering a background to her real thoughts.

An afternoon comprised strictly of old movies and exploratory sex left Cait mostly naked, with only one of Allison’s T-shirts and a pair of stained panties covering her delectable indecency.

Her fingers explored her lover’s hair, unraveling knots as she discovered them, attempting to soothe Cait in her dream world.

Allison knew of Cait’s night terrors, and if there were still people in the houses around them, they would too. Horrible screaming fits that she couldn’t be awoken from, no matter how severely she was shaken, even slapped. After her mind decided that she’d suffered plenty, her eyelids would dart open, a stream of tears gushing forth. She would attempt to quell Allison’s worries; “Yeah, I get ‘em sometimes. Sorry ta wake ya,” but that was hardly an excuse.

Cait was hurting, still, after all this time. The scars plunged deep, too deep to completely heal in this lifetime, and though her attempts to disguise her pain were valiant, the efforts were ultimately wasted.

Allison knew why Cait bristled at the threat of violence; Cait’s natural reaction was to flinch, and her aggressive demeanor overcompensated by a mile and a half. Allison understood why Cait estranged herself; she thought the world was out to get her, and so far, with the people she’d encountered, that was a reasonable conclusion for a woman in her position. Allison recognized the bitchy griping and the cocksure loud mouth for what they were: excessive corrections to mask the fact that Cait was the quiet kind, the type that never raises her hand in the classroom because she’s afraid of answering incorrectly in front of all her peers.

Cait had looked at herself, really examined herself in a mirror and hated what she saw. So she killed it, and crafted a new Cait from the recycled pieces of her old self, crafted a Cait that would never fall to another’s false kindness ever again. Crafted a Cait that was too strong and rugged to ever be felled by fist and belts. Crafted a Cait that pushed everyone away so their words could never cut at her soul and rend her heart into salty, tear-soaked pieces, so that she would never be close enough to anyone to feel hopeless betrayal. Crafted a Cait that was overly confident so indecisiveness and emotion would never push her to the dust.

An exterior made of her broken bones and her broken heart to shield the vulnerable pieces that still remained.

Cait didn’t deserve any of it. _No one_ deserved any of it, but especially not Cait. Not someone who could love so intensely, someone who couldn’t contain a shy smile whenever she was called “Butterfly”.

Allison would help her heal the scars. All of them, not just the glaring issues. She would build Cait up, and she would crush anyone who ever tried to knock her down.

She would begin with the dreams.

She would cleanse her of the night terrors and the nightmares so that Cait possessed a place she could escape to when everything was too much, a peaceful land where she would never need to worry about the crack of a belt invading her sleep. It would take time, and a lot of it, but Allison would devote whatever it would take to free of her burdens.

After all, Cait held her undivided attention at the moment. Shaun would enter the picture at some point, yes, but there would always be so much room for Cait.

Cait murmured, frowned, and Allison hastily resumed the caring gestures. Moments after her palm continued comforting her lover, Cait’s frown disappeared, a sigh seeping from her lips.

Allison had dealt with this kind of thing before, with Nate’s terrors. She understood the only action that could aid them was simply existing near them, petting their hair, giving them something to hug and cry into when they eventually surfaced.

Singing helped, too, she’d noticed. A single stanza, sometimes only a few lines, was enough to calm a racing pulse.

The movie ended climactically in a hailstorm of bullets, an atrocious pun, and then there was only static on screen. It was silent, so she left it for Codsworth to attend to.

Gently, she snaked an arm under Cait’s shoulders, another under her knees, and hefted her upward to tote her to bed.

She stirred not long into their journey, eyes bleary with sleep, figure tensing in an automatic fight-or-flight response so acutely ingrained into her mind.

“ _Shhhhhh_ ,” Allison whispered, “ _Go back to sleep_.”

Cait obeyed immediately, suspense and hostility abandoning her in an instant to be replaced by peace and total trust, nuzzling Allison’s collar and curling closer.

Soft footsteps padded into their room, and Allison navigated around to Cait’s side of the bed, meticulously laying her onto the mattress, easing her head down to the pillow with her hands. Cait watched her all the while.

Allison peeled the covers away from underneath Cait’s heavy frame, who helped here and there, until Cait was only on the mattress. She wrapped her in blankets, burying her up to her neck, and still Cait watched with unguarded interest.

A hoarse grumble escaped Allison’s mouth when she tried to talk, so she made her way to the kitchen to fill a glass with water.

Except she didn’t; as soon as she’d moved half an inch away from bedside, Cait’s hand had scrambled from the covers and latched firmly onto her wrist. When she looked to see what spurred such a response, she saw Cait with all her defenses down, vulnerable and drawn into herself, uncertainty and dashes of fear in her emerald irises.

“Please, don’t go,” she pleaded, and Allison was about to protest, but then she looked into the panic in her eyes, at the need for a warm body to cuddle her and tell her everything would be alright, and her resolve vanished.

She smiled compassionately, nodding. “Okay.”

She tore her gaze away with much difficulty and summoned quietly, “Codsworth?”

An optic peeked into the room, and he mutely queried, “Need something, mum?”

“A glass of water, please.”

“Right away, mum.”

Allison departed to walk around to her side, but Cait still held steadfast. She sighed, not because of the vanity of the situation; there was nothing vain about the fear of losing a loved one.

Allison clambered over Cait, who twisted so that she always faced her lover, until she could slip beneath the sheets. Codsworth came and went, and she cured the dryness of her throat before settling down.

Cait scooched closer until they were almost touching, centimeters away, but too timid to cross the final distance, though Allison could see she desperately yearned to.

So Allison took it upon herself to wrap her arms around her butterfly and bring her in until their bodies could mesh no closer, until Cait’s leg hooked over her waist, until their breasts compressed, until their noses converged and their breath was hot on their lips, until they were joined into one being again.

Cait hadn’t attempted sleep yet, hands pressing into Allison’s back like her lover would lose her if she wasn’t embraced in a bear hug, enchanting eyes unimaginably grateful and devoted.

“Thank you.”

“I told you there was nothing to thank me for.”

“But there is.”

Allison shifted closer. “Oh?”

“You’ve given me everythin’ I’d ever ask for.”

Allison nuzzled her. “I do it because I love you. I’d do it whether you were grateful or not.”

“Exactly. You can love anyone in the Commonwealth that ya please, but ya chose to give it ta me.” Her fingers curled into her back. “Thanks.”

Allison smiled knowingly. “I wouldn’t give it to just _anyone_. They’d have to earn it. And you earned it.”

Cait nodded, and kept staring. Cait was so warm and huggable, and though Allison wasn’t used to it, she cherished her either way.

Cait’s lips parted to speak, hesitant, but Allison leaned forward to gift her with a chaste kiss.

“You can tell me anything.”

“I know.” Cait snuggled closer, until their foreheads touched, until their combined heat became unbearably wonderful.

“I-… Lettin’ me guard down isn’t easy for me, and…”

Allison stroked through her hair, and Cait hummed.

“And I know I can be a real handful at times. I’m sorry for all the hassle I’ve raised.”

“It’s okay, Cait. I understand.”

“Just… give me some time,” Cait decided.

“I’ll give you whatever you need. Just stay with me, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Please, be careful. I can’t lose you, Cait.”

Allison couldn’t lose her, not after everything else had moldered into ash in her hands. This, this woman, was something that she would protect with her life, give everything for because she was so vital to Allison’s happiness, to her existence. Because if Allison lost Cait _and_ Nate _and_ her friends _and_ her world, there would be nothing left for her.

Cait saw this in her eyes, felt the gravity of the situation, and determined words wouldn’t do.

The kiss was amazing. It was sweet and passionate, firm and resolute. It was handsy and bold and mind-numbing, delicious and awesome and unbeatable. It was every good thing in the world, justice and love and adoration beyond compare. Lovely beyond description. Just like Cait.

“Okay,” Cait agreed, breathless. “But you have ta promise the same. You’re so special to me. You’re too special for me ta lose you,”

A curl of her lip. “That’s easy.”

“I mean it,” Cait warned, “No bullshite heroics, no layin’ down yer life for me. I want ya with me, okay? Promise me ya won’t do anythin’ stupid like that.”

The curl blossomed into a giddy smile. “I swear it. If I’m not alive, how will I enjoy you, Butterfly?”

Cait blushed. Absolutely adorable.

For a long while, they simply existed in each other’s arms, astonished that this was real, that _they_ were real. They’d come a long way from pointing shotguns in each other’s faces, spewing insults and underhanded comments on their handling of some arbitrary, insignificant incident.

Then, Cait scooched even closer, and Allison received her graciously as her head tucked up under nose, her lips against her bangs.

Allison stroked her lover, tender rhythm more easing and pacifying than any lullaby could ever be. The sultry breath from her lover’s nostril’s slowed, lengthening, deepening as Cait tumbled into the dream world, her heartbeat leisurely and unceasing, her hold relaxing.

Allison’s eyelids drooped under the weight of exhaustion, but she suspended sleep to appreciate Cait with her walls retracted, totally free of every defense. This was a privilege reserved only for Allison, and she would wring as much satisfaction from knowing that Cait was hers and she was Cait’s.

Sleep was unyielding, however, and she no longer possessed the presence of mind to resume stroking Cait’s hair. She was too lost in Cait, in her smell, in the little spasms where she would squeeze Allison briefly, and soon, the blackness consumed her.

Allison didn’t dream of better times only because she existed in better times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment and I'll see you next time!


	10. Nightmares and Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate the comments and all! This chapter, as well as the next, are short segments of fluff and smut, because I like writing them so much. Please enjoy and leave a comment!

The body in Allison’s hands wasn’t calm like it had been when she’d fallen asleep. Instead, Cait was frenzied, thrashing wildly, yelps stifled by sleep, and Allison immediately recognized it for what it was.

Allison was upright in an instant, collecting Cait in her arms and rocking her firmly, yet gently to wake her. This was perhaps the second occasion where Allison had witnessed Cait in truly abject, unfiltered fear, and she hated it now just as much as she’d hated it then. The expression was at home on Cait’s face, but that didn’t mean Allison appreciated the way her eyebrows were scrunched, how her lips trembled and sucked in air like a vacuum cleaner, or how deathly pale her complexion had morphed.

“Cait? Cait!” Allison shouted, “It’s okay, Butterfly!-”

And at that, Cait’s eyes opened faster than a muzzle flash, bolted straight up quicker than a bullet, and screeched louder than a gunshot.

Allison knew it was bad: Cait hadn’t the peace of mind to even attempt to muffle the screech that seemed so… not Cait. Impossibly shrill. Unguarded. The epitome of fear. Allison’s heart didn’t break. Her entire soul imploded.

Cait struggled at first, and the thick cloak of sweat made hanging on to her like wrestling a greased pig. She strained and screeched and lashed out, but Allison pinned her arms to her side.

“Cait, baby!” Allison pleaded, careful not to hurt her lover as she fought with as much vigor as Allison had ever seen. “Baby, it’s me! It’s me!”

Cait faltered, and Allison loosened her grip until the restraining hold was a firm hug and she begged, “It’s me baby. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s just me, Butterfly. It’s just me.”

Allison was confused when she heard Cait choke, but when she attempted to look over her lover’s shoulder and Cait looked away, she understood.

“Cait? Are you okay?” But she already knew the answer.

“I’m fine,” Cait barely managed through a voice tight with the urge to cry, and Allison forcefully twisted her chin until they looked eye to eye and nose to nose. Her eyes watered, her lips pursed, and she was evenly soaked in perspiration.

Allison gazed into her eyes until she was sure she’d captured Cait’s attention, and she whispered, “Cait?”

She sniffled. “Yeah?”

“Can you do something for me?”

Another sniffle, “Yeah?”

“Let it out, baby. Let it all out.”

Cait knew exactly as to what Allison was referencing, but she stubbornly bit her lip.

Allison reclaimed that lip in a brief kiss, and however short the contact may have been, the kiss drew what it needed from Cait; just a little crack in the wall, but Allison covered all her bases. “I love you, Cait. Please, baby: let it all out.”

Cait sobbed once in response, and then the dam broke. One sob turned into two, which turned into three, and then Cait couldn’t keep her eyes open, and Allison welcomed her into the crook of her shoulder. Her lover’s arms constricted about her chest, and Allison pulled and untangled Cait from the sheets until her legs were clamped about her waist, until their bare bodies were mashed as close together as they could manage.

“There we go, baby. There we go.”

And suddenly Cait was crying. Really crying, fingernails digging into her shoulder blades, tears soaking her naked skin at the crook of her neck. She was in total despair, in utter misery, and Allison did all she could to help her.

“Just like that, baby,” Allison crooned, lips brushing against the quavering shell of Cait’s ear that shuddered with every honest sob. “Just like that.”

She was rocking them side-to-side, because she’d noticed Cait reacted to that best, and while she rubbed comforting, deep circles into her lover’s back and spine with one hand, the other burrowed through strands of fiery red and raked her fingers across her lover’s scalp.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, holding her tighter while Cait wept and wept. “It’s okay, Butterfly. I’m right here.”

The first few notes of Cait’s favorite song only exacerbated the tears, but Allison interpreted that as a positive reaction; Cait had needed this for a long time, and so she didn’t waver as she completed the first stanza.

Cat’s embrace solidified, but she was limp now, and so Allison held her close while she lowered them to the bed. They lay on their sides, and because Allison’s head rested directly atop Cait’s, every syllable of the remainder of the song was crooned directly from her mouth to her lover’s ear.

The melody was soothing by the end of the lyrics, and by the time Allison had murmured the song a third time, Cait was almost completely tranquil. Glum, but tranquil.

Allison had never ceased exploring Cait’s body with her hand, had never halted her digits swimming through her hair, and Cait almost hummed with every slight movement. Allison pressed her lips against her ear and kissed her with as much sugar as she could muster.

“I love ya,” Cait stole the words from her mouth.

“I love you, too.” She nuzzled into her hair with her nose. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cait was hesitant to do anything, so Allison encouraged, “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge.”

Perhaps Cait saw the truth in the statement, or perhaps she simply realized that she needed to speak. She curled in closer, and Allison lent her all the support she needed.

She sniffled. “Back in me slave days I… In the camps…”

Cait couldn’t quite find her words, but her slip-up seemed too self-conscious.

“I told you I won’t judge.”

There was a pause.

A feeble, “Promise?”

Without thought, “I promise, Cait.”

Cait sniffed once for confidence, but her explanation was still shaky and unsure.

“When- when the raidin’ parties would stumble across a surplus of food, they’d… they’d bribe us- with all the extra food- into… into joinin’ their parties,” Cait mumbled.

“What do you mean ‘parties’?” and she tensed; she couldn’t imagine the answer was easily swallowed.

“They-… We would-…” Cait stuttered, and Allison squeezed her.

“It’s okay. I promised, remember?”

Her lover’s hot breath against her shoulder inhaled once, then exhaled with effort.

“We’d… Ah shite, there were these rooms where they’d, um… ‘use’ us. They’d give us the scraps for it.” Cait swallowed. “T-They’d ask if we wanted dinner, and they’d take the first volunteers.”

She could feel Cait cringe away, and her tone turned panicky and quick, like Allison would throw her from the bed for being a tainted piece of meat, or some other ridiculous notion.

“I-I never _wanted_ ta do it, honest! B-but they didn’t feed us too well and, and food was just so _scarce_ -!”

“Cait.”

“-A-And I was so _hungry_ , and- and-!”

“Cait.”

“-And they always gave a _lot_ of food, and-!”

Allison lifted away to look Cait in the eyes, but Cait apparently misread her intentions as abandonment because she wrapped her arms around her neck. “No, no, wait! I’m sorry!” her lover wailed desperately as she wrestled to hold Allison close. And she was on the verge of tears again, so Allison silenced her with the only effective method she knew of.

The kiss was prolonged, much longer than any of their others, with hands groping at bodies to keep them where they were, lips bruising and swelling, tongues slipping through the cracks for attention.

Cait was much more relaxed when they parted, breaths shallow for different reasons. Allison brushed a caring thumb over her lover’s cheekbone.

“It’s okay Butterfly. I understand.”

Cait’s concerns seemed mostly quelled, but what was left could be cleansed through rigorous cuddling, so Allison embraced her lover once more until they were a tangle of arms and legs and fingers running through stringy hair once more.

“So you dreamed you were in one of their parties?” Allison murmured softly, cautiously.

“Yeah, but… I was… Dammit, I’m sorry. I’m really fockin’ this up, aren’t I?”

“No,” Allison soothed, “no, you’re just fine.”

With a little more life in her voice but still wary, Cait continued, “There was a group of ‘em. In my dream. And… They wanted me ta… dance for ‘em.”

She shriveled, but Allison coaxed her out her shell.

“So I did, of course. I was dancin’ for ‘em, on this shitty stage they’d cobbled together, and… they were cheerin’ and hootin’ and hollerin’ like the bastards they were…”

Allison trailed her fingertips down Cait’s back, and she shivered, though Allison guessed the effect wasn’t spawned from her

“But then they… they started grabbin’ at me, and I tried ta run, but the door was locked. And then they started… they started rippin’ me flesh from me bones and they just wouldn’t stop. I tried ta fight back, but it hurt.”

She burrowed farther into her neck, gripped Allison with her arms and her legs like the grimy mitts were still tearing at her skin and yanking her limb from limb.

“It hurt real bad. Then ya woke me up.”

“Oh, Cait…” Allison murmured. “It’s okay, Cait. I’m here. I’ll always be here, okay? I’ll always be here.”

There was silence between them for a long time. The booming ticking of the Wakemaster was pacifying, and joined the noisy water rushing through pipes, the quiet thrum of the heating system, and the lulling hum of the washer and dryer in the pleasant monotony that was the nightly household happenings. There was also Cait’s heartbeat, but Allison couldn’t hear that as much as feel it against her breast, feel Cait’s casually beating heart through the pads of her fingertips while she traced butterflies into her lover’s back.

“I’m pretty focked up, aren’t I?” Cait whispered.

“Yeah,” Allison confirmed lightly, “A little bit.”

“But you have so much more good stuff than bad stuff in you. And once you see all the good stuff that I see, the bad stuff will go away.”

“Really?”

“Really. And I won’t give up until we get rid of all of the bad stuff. Okay? I’m not leaving.”

There was a brief moment before Cait finally believed. “…Okay.”

More silence. More relentless hugging. More shared, thumping heartbeats.

“Do you want to try to go to sleep again?” Allison offered.

Cait nodded awkwardly because her head was smooshed under Allison’s.

Allison shifted so that Cait could retrieve her arm and move her head, but before Cait twisted around so they could spoon, she kissed her. It was thankful, communicating everything Cait couldn’t say, and Allison gratefully received her into her mouth for the few seconds the kiss was held. Then, Cait turned so she faced away, and Allison pulled her in like a fish on a hook and slithered an arm under Cait’s lean body.

“I’m right here, okay?” Allison reassured, slipping her hand that snaked over her lover’s body into Cait’s hand. “Hold on to me.”

And Cait did, with both hands in fact. And she curled in closer so their legs could intermingle, so Allison’s breasts were squished against Cait’s back, so Cait’s rear was nestled into Allison’s hips.

“Hold on and don’t let go,” but Cait had that part down, so Allison planted a sloppy, affectionate smooch onto her lover’s cheek and dove into fiery locks that smelled of conditioner and Cait. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Allison waited for sleep to overtake Cait before she allowed herself to succumb; she was serious when she’d said she’d keep Cait safe. Only when her lover’s fingers loosened did Allison surrender to the pull of the dream world.

And even then, she was vigilant and all seeing.

 

**ooooo**

 

“Motherfucker…”

Allison’s grumbling accompanied the click-clack of nails on a tile floor as the hinges on the door announced their arrival with a squeak. Moments later, dog-like panting emanated from a smelly source just behind Cait as she lazed on the couch, and she wrinkled her nose.

Dogmeat growled once, and then he was trotting over to Codsworth who procured a bowl of fresh water and set the dog dish onto the floor.

Cait swiveled her head to glance at Allison, who was on one knee and grouchily prying her work boots from her feet. When the shoe didn’t comply, Allison looked ready to cut the thing to shreds with the switchblade haphazardly jabbing from her pocket.

“Ya okay?” Cait asked.

“… Work with me, you son of a bitch…” she threatened the shoe, and then her hand darted to her pocket, but a something stopped her from unleashing her vengeful wrath upon stubborn leather.

Cait was grasping her wrist with one hand while the other squeezed at her shoulder. “Woah, hold up!”

When Allison looked up with surprise and recognized the face invading her personal space, her confrontational attitude abated slightly, then vanished altogether. Along with her spine too, apparently, as her shoulders drooped and she plopped onto her butt. Allison leaned into the hand on her shoulder for comfort, pressing her lips to the back of Cait’s palm and closing her eyes.

“Darlin’, what happened?” Cait asked with a frown.

Allison sighed.

“Nothing. Which is the goddamn problem.”

“What?”

“We haven’t made decent progress for three days now, thanks to Virgil’s handwriting and our own ineptitude regarding quantum physics.” She nodded to Dogmeat, “And Jackass there keeps making off with our tools.”

Dogmeat’s furry, glistening snout twisted to them then, and the blissfully ignorant smile he flashed them earned him a snort from Allison.

“Hey Codsworth! How’s dinner coming along?”

“Splendid, mum! Though I do believe I may require a trip to the supermarket in the near future to restock the pantry.”

“You can do it tomorrow.”

“It’s on the agenda, mum!” Codsworth informed her.

Allison stood then, and Cait followed, noticing how Allison winced when the protective jacket was shed onto a coat hook.

“Are ya alright?” Cait queried with concern, superficially analyzing her lover for wounds.

“I’ve got a knot in my back the size of New York.” Allison rolled her shoulders and winced again.

Disregarding the fact that Cait had no idea what “New York” was, she understood the message. “I know some stretches that can help with that.”

“I do too, but thanks anyways,” and she pulled Cait into a hug that crushed the life from both of them, but neither minded.

Cait held them close for a time, fingers crawling up her back, probing lightly until Allison grunted, and she dove deeper. The moan Allison released when Cait zeroed in on the mass of muscle wasn’t quite sensual, but it was just enough to spawn a satisfied smirk on her lips.

Allison’s head dipped lower, her arms tightening as Cait slipped her hands up and under her shirt, molding bare skin.

“I think ya need a massage,” Cait whispered into her ear, the smirk evident in her voice.

“Mmmmmmmm,” Allison hummed into her neck, and Cait felt electric fingers spark magic up her spine as they wriggled up under her corset.

“Come on,” Cait encouraged, lips at her ear, and she slowly guided them away from the door. “Forget the tin can; I can give ya somethin’ else to chow on, if ya want.”

“ _Mmmmmmmm_ ,” Allison repeated, but there was a hunger there, and Cait pressed their bodies close as she gnawed on her ear. Cait had more fun toying with Allison than anyone else she’d ever had wrapped around her finger.

But then Codsworth cut their game short, and Cait cursed at him under her breath.

“Dinner is served, mum!”

Cait sighed, annoyed, but was instantly stimulated when Allison’s tongue licked up the expanse of her ear, stole a fast, needy breath when Allison nipped the lobe, curled her fingers and scraped her lover’s back when she lowered and sucked on that spot just below her ear and just behind her jaw.

“ _~After dinner…~_ ” Allison whispered, purposefully breathing hot and heavy into her ear, and Cait should’ve been disappointed with herself with how fast the tables had turned, but she was too busy enjoying the rasping and the way Allison had somehow pushed her against a wall.

“After dinner…” Cait repeated.

“ _~I get a massage…~_ ”

“As long as you… ~ _mmmh_ ~…” Allison was savage in her assault on that spot, and when a knee put much-needed pressure onto her crotch, she humped her lover’s thigh, legs clamping onto the appendage.

“ _~What, give you a massage, too?~_ ” Sultry, and Cait spiraled from any position where she might once again gain control.

“With, _~ah~_ , there better be tongue,” Cait stumbled.

“ _~Oh, there’ll be lots of it.~_ ”

If Cait wasn’t lying to save face, she loved this tango between them, this imbalance of power. Cait’s personality was very dominant, which usually meant many of her needs went unsated in the bedroom. She would rock her hips for a minute, maybe two depending on the man, wriggle her fingers in wet heat if it was a woman, and then her partner would climax, and the whole thing would be done. Simple, but occasionally (mostly) unsatisfying.

But with Allison, things were complicated. Complicated but _very_ satisfying.

Cait was only ever pinned to the mattress when she allowed it. She’d never been in a position where she was completely at another’s mercy, not after she’d escaped captivity. Her arms hadn’t ever been locked in an unbreakable grip of iron, not when she was also weighed down at the waist by a body heavy with so much pure muscle. She’d never _ever_ been truly helpless.

But then a woman as lean and powerful as her had kissed her, had destroyed all her fighting spirit with a mere contact of the lips. Then the woman had left her gasping for breath on the bed, had drained her of everything and had planted the seeds of a new addiction.

No, to say the woman had left her there would be incorrect; she’d stayed on top of her, nursing her back to health only to completely destroy her again. Cait was finding the act of staying even difficult, especially when breathing was so difficult, when staying conscious was a new problem.

And Cait adored it all. Because it was the one time Cait was rewarded for being helpless. Because all her life, she’d fought to win, and now she didn’t have to fight at all. Because when she lost this battle between her and the one she held most dear, the spoils of war were so much greater.

She would still fight, of course. She would make sure her lover panted along with her in the sweaty aftermath. She would throw out a wry, suggestive comment, would sway her hips more than necessary when she walked away, would push her lover onto the bed. Only to be kissed to silence her, to have strong arms wrap around her hips and greedily undo the zipper of her jeans, to be rolled onto her back and ravaged.

Allison stepped away. Gradually, so that the taste would last and mix with dinner, so that the fire that branded her wherever her lover touched would still smolder even after the flames died, so that the mist that pervaded her mind wouldn’t dissipate easily.

Dinner was maddening.

Cait began with the upper hand, as usual.

The seasoned steak was delectable, but not enough to constitute such a slow, erotic lick of the lips, her tongue ambling gradually around her mouth. Allison’s gaze followed Cait’s tongue while she chewed on a piece of gristle, fiddling absently with her fork.

The heating was beginning to cook the house in preparations for the night’s freeze, but the interior wasn’t hot enough to rationalize how many buttons she released on her corset, or how she leaned forward so her boobs were almost spilling out onto the plate.

As she rested her chin in one hand after she’d finished her meal, Cait did notice how there was grease on her pinky that held her head aloft, but not enough to justify how Cait casually slipped the digit between her plump lips without moving the hand from her chin and sucked sensually, wishfully tonguing the digit like it was Allison’s clit.

There really was no excuse with the way Cait looked at her, though. Her pupils wide and ladled with sex, her lashes long and flirty, her eyes unblinking. There was no clever disguise here, just unconcealed yearning.

It was driving Allison crazy.

Cait felt something brush against the top of her foot, and moments later, a toe connected with her toe. The toe traveled upward, teasing her inner foot, then moved upward to her ankle.

Cait grinned lecherously, pinching her lip between her teeth when Allison discovered with wide eyes what Cait already knew.

She knew what Allison wanted to ask: how? when? But Allison asked nothing, for she finally realized why Cait was shimmying awkwardly a few minutes before. Cait’s pants were in a heap behind her chair, and her arousal was pooling into a puddle onto the wooden seat. Because, just as Cait had promised, she didn’t wear panties.

Cait stared with that naughty, borderline pornographic grin that she’d perfected over the years- lusty eyes, head tilted forward subtly, toothy grin that could seduce the most libidinously controlled men or women- and she hummed when Allison’s toe ascended to tickle her calf.

The toe climbed gradually, and both women stared at each other, one with a practiced lip bite, one with a look that said, “I’m gonna fuck you harder than a nymphomaniac in heat.”

Then the toe passed her knee, and Cait stifled a moan as the toe dragged gently over sensitive flesh. It creeped closer, and closer, and closer, and Cait scooted a little further forward.

And then the toe was pressed indirectly to her clit, and Cait really moaned. The toe repositioned, using Cait’s groans as echolocation to hone in on her center. When the rough texture fully pressed to her clitoris, Allison wasted no time in rubbing up and down, pressing then releasing.

Cait held Allison’s gaze with effort, pushed herself further onto the toe, and holy hell, she was actually getting off on it.

“This how you’re gonna, _~mmh~_ , fuck me now, is it?” Cait panted, still with the smile.

Without warning, the toe disappeared, and Cait mourned the absence for a split second before she resettled into her confident, sexy personality.

“I believe you said something about a massage.” Allison requested.

“I believe I did.” Cait trailed her finger through the puddle between her legs, made it clear what she was doing and held her digits aloft for just long enough for Allison to recognize the gleam, and licked the arousal from her fingertips, because she knew Allison loved that.

“Now look what a mess you’ve made,” Cait faux reprimanded as she stared at her crotch, and stood. She turned and sauntered toward the doorway, glancing over her shoulder to see if Allison followed.

She did, and Cait couldn’t hold back a playful moan when she felt the sharp smack of a hand on her naked butt cheeks. Hands squeezed her ass, and Allison leaned into her, nipping her neck.

“Seems like someone’s still hungry,” Cait remarked, but Allison didn’t say a word. She just gently guided them to the bedroom, where Cait twisted in her grasp.

Cait kissed her, deep and affectionate, and her fingers wandered to the knot.

“Strip,” She commanded breathlessly, lips ghosting against lips, eyelids heavy and drooping, emerald irises lusting at emerald irises. There was something about the inevitability of the act with Allison that reduced Cait’s mischief until it was but an afterthought, something about the impending pleasure that wiped her mind of everything but Allison and love and loving Allison.

Allison stripped down into nothing, and fingers plucked open her corset and soon that was somewhere she couldn’t care to notice. They were naked, gripping each other’s waists almost tentatively, and they were restraining themselves. The way they looked at each other, straight in each other’s eyes, didn’t help one bit, but the torture of looking but not kissing hurt in a sexy, smutty way.

“On the bed… face down…” Cait whispered, but even though Allison followed orders, she still experienced a sense of loss when Allison departed and lay prone on her stomach, resting her head on her forearms.

Cait mounted her, heart thumping, nesting on Allison’s athletic globes that served as a surprisingly comfortable seat.

“ _~Fuck, you’re wet…~_ ” Allison mumbled from under her, and Cait smirked, ground into Allison’s ass and dripped arousal down her lover’s cheeks. Allison shuddered.

Cait began high, at her lover’s traps, pinching and squeezing the muscle there, working out the kinks with slow, intense strokes. Allison hummed in satisfaction, and when she rolled her neck, Cait took a quick detour and pressed her thumbs into her spine at the base of her skull, rubbing and molding until her muscles were strings of spaghetti.

Allison groaned when Cait finally worked her way to the knot, when she applied so much pinpoint pressure on that one area that her lover went completely limp. She kneaded the powerful muscle like it was clay, her experience with this kind of thing very obvious and very appreciated.

When Cait was confident the kink was out of her lover’s system, she paused a moment to admire Allison. She was incredibly athletic, with dimples around her deltoids and her shoulder blades, and though the flesh there was scratched and punctured by shrapnel and bullet holes, the milkiness and the softness of her skin was so alluring, so attractive. Like frosting on the most divine pastry of all time.

She leaned down and kissed her lover’s shoulder blade, kissed her lover’s spine and all the power and destructive potential coiled by thick ropes of muscle and contained by flesh that tasted salty and felt like smooth silk.

“ _~How’d I do?~_ ” Cait breathed against her skin, and her lover’s back contracted and expanded with a heavy breath.

“ _~Fucking amazing._ You _are fucking amazing.~_ ” She peeked over her shoulder, peeked downwards. “ _~I see you’ve given my back a fresh coat.~_ ”

Cait grinned seductively, grinding up, then down her lover’s lower back slippery and sheening with her fluids, friction rubbing at her clit.

“ _~What can I say? I like strong women.~_ ” And she kissed her back again, spreading her fingers across her strong torso.

Allison shifted, and Cait stood on her knees as Allison lay on her back, as she fixed her with a gaze that drew an excited smile across her face.

“ _~I want to taste you,~_ ” Allison mumbled with unhidden lust and want, and palmed her way up Cait’s body, halting at her sides, thumbs teasing her abs.

Cait had nothing to say to that, to the way she was looking at her right now, like a succulent piece of cake ready to be devoured. And Cait was ready to be devoured, so with a pulse that exceeded any known limitations to mankind, she scooted upwards until Allison’s arms wrapped possessively around each thigh.

Her eyes closed, her mouth agape, she inhaled sharply as he lowered herself, as her lover’s mouth first grazed her clit. The feeling was otherworldly, and she audibly made that fact clear, expressed her desire for more through when she rested her hands onto Allison’s.

Wetness and heat greeted her pussy as Allison took all of her in at once, as she sucked everything and lathered up the length with her tongue. She felt the muscle swim through her folds, felt it wriggle and slither and Cait gasped and moaned and breathed in quick, short, loud bursts.

She bucked against Allison’s face, trying to rock into that damp tongue textured with the perfect amount of grit and the perfect amount of smoothness. Her loins felt the pressure build immediately, and Allison’s finger’s massaged little circles into the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

Cait threw her head back, mouth wide open and agape as she rocked into the tongue that loved her and fed her pleasure. The tongue lapped at her like a dog, flicking at her entrance, swimming through heat until it encircled her clitoris. And even though Cait was rolling her hips, Allison only attended to one spot at a time.

“ _~Oh-… fock-… Alli-!~_ ” Cait choked, unable to pull a decent breath in the best way.

The tongue spent time at her core, at the entrance that steadily leaked fluids, and Allison sucked and sucked and Cait felt like she was going to shrivel up as her lover sucked the air from her like a balloon. But she didn’t, and so Cait kept rocking, the fingers kept teasing her thighs, and the pleasurable pressure built and built.

When Allison focused her clit, she thought she would pass then and there, would fly with the angels because surely only heaven was a place where Cait could feel so much pleasure? The mouth sucked at her undersides, sucked at her clit and her curtains and swirled them in her mouth like mouthwash before she released them.

Cait was gradually leaning forward now, eyes squeezed shut, head bent forward so her sticky hair cascaded down her collarbone, and the rough tongue licked all of her again. It licked everything, her tight entrance, her folds and in between, her bud that looked ready burst from its hood with arousal.

And then the pressure _really_ began building, and every time she rocked forward, she whimpered pitifully as she felt ready to burst.

Allison noticed, and offered her tongue for Cait to use. Cait’s hands interwove into the threads of Allison’s hair to steady her, and she rolled her hips into the outstretched muscle that coated her thighs with spit, warm electricity crackling with every bump and groove her clitoris was subjected to.

Allison was unyielding in the final moments before a blubbering Cait careened over the edge, rubbing mercilessly up her clit at all times, ensuring that when Cait ground forward, Allison licked vigorously downward, and when Cait ground backward, Allison licked upward.

Then Cait was cumming, shuddering like a seizure as the pressure burst and she was a miniature spigot again, cum racing down Allison’s chin and throat. She was deadlocked in a full-body euphoria, bliss erupting from her pussy and spreading warmth down her thighs, up her belly, filling her mind with nothing but pure elation.

She rocked all the way through the climax, bucking against her lover’s tongue that soaked up all of her juices, and when she was able to breathe again, she inhaled huge gulps.

The palms journeyed up her sides and eased her onto her back, handling her like she would fracture at the slightest mishandling. She expected a warm body to lay on hers, to turn her head that was looking sideways and kiss her.

She wasn’t expecting the lips that kissed her clit, that wrapped around the bud and cocooned it with sweet, suctiony goodness.

Cait cried out in surprise, her spine arched and her thighs raised, but Allison was latched on for life, licking letters into her clit and drinking the flood of fresh arousal as it gushed from her core.

And then a finger prodded at her butt, pushing experimentally, and Cait froze. All her experiences with anything related to anal were extremely unpleasant, usually bloody.

But then she glanced downward at her lover propped between her legs through a matte of hair that clung to her perspiring forehead. She saw the question in her lover’s eyes, the willingness to make her feel better than she ever had before. She saw the determination to try new things, the affection on display for Cait to see.

Thus far, everything Allison had ever done to her had been wonderful, titillating, and exhilarating. There was no reason Allison would cock this up.

Cait nodded hazily, and she rested her head onto the comforter.

“ _~Fock… Oh, baby… fock~_ ” she cursed as two digits entered her ass. They were lubed, Cait realized, probably with her own excitement, and though the stretch was a little uncomfortable, Cait like the way Allison felt inside her.

The fingers lay dormant for a while, their mere presence amplifying what her lover’s tongue was doing to her, how Allison’s tongue lashed against her clit.

And then the fingers wriggled and shifted and twisted, and Cait moaned loud and unexpectedly. They pushed further into her depths, stretched her farther, and when they curled and swirled, she could feel them even from her vagina. Then, they curled in just the right way, and the climax that grew steadily spiked as her G-spot was stimulated. Spiked, but didn’t quite give, thankfully, because Cait was _loving_ what Allison was doing to her.

“ _~Fock… Ohhhh, that’s good… That’s real good…~_ ” Cait whined.

And then they started thrusting. They were shallow, mildly-paced thrusts, but the friction would’ve burned if Allison pumped any faster, any deeper. Allison’s lips migrated lower to her entrance, rimming the ring that lead deeper, and her thumb replaced her mouth on her clit.

Cait bucked wildly as Allison’s muscle slithered inward, spread her pussy little by little and shallowly licked her walls, as her fingers curled and twisted dexterously with each thrust into her ass that raked over her special spot, as her thumb fed the bonfire that was burning brighter and hotter as she was stretched and filled and fucked.

The pressure erupted suddenly, and she came hard and loud into Allison’s mouth. Pure ecstasy racked her body, intensified in her clitoris, in her cunt still stuffed with warm, wet, rough tongue, in her ass stuffed with fingers that stretched her and spread her. This was a good idea, Cait deliriously decided as she gushed onto Allison’s face.

Buzzing and high as a vertibird, Cait panted, unable to move, and she wondered if Allison would subject her to another round.

She felt cold and empty when both the tongue and the fingers pulled out, and she was seconds from desperately, shamelessly reaching down to at least push more fingers into her when the body finally ascended.

Just like she was hoping, she was borne with the full weight of Allison, a hand turning her by the chin so that Allison could kiss her. Cait pet her like a dog, hands trailing rhythmically down her lover’s spine, smiling into the kiss that pushed her into the mattress, loving every bit of the woman on top of her.

When Allison lifted her head and opened her eyes to look at Cait’s flushed face still warm from the mind-numbing orgasm, Cait grinned wide.

“ _~So what’re ya gonna show me next?~_ ”

Allison searched her eyes.

“ _~It’s pretty dirty…~_ ” Allison mused.

“ _~Everythin’ ya do ta me is dirty as all hell, darlin’,~_ ” Cait teased.

A phantom of a finger haunted Cait’s asshole, and Allison licked her lips. Cait knew she would like whatever happened next.

“ _~We’re going to need a shower…~_ ”

 

**ooooo**

 

It wasn’t always sunshine and sex. Whether or not Allison liked it, Cait was still damaged goods any way she cut it. A diamond in the rough maybe, but she still had to wade through the rough to find the diamond.

Arguments were essential to a healthy relationship, Allison knew. Maybe not the screaming, throwing-pots-at-faces kind of arguments, but a clashing of ideals was necessary to remind all parties involved to appreciate the good and to work with the bad.

Allison was excellent at arguing; law school gave her the tools to craft the thesis, and countless practice perfected her style. However, her techniques were nil if her opponent simply refused to listen.

She sighed, ears ringing from the volume of their conversation, rubbing her face with her tired hand as the front door was thrown open and subsequently slammed shut. At least she could think in peace now. A guilty sort of peace, but peace nonetheless.

The quarrel’s subject was something painfully menial and mundane, something about putting away clothes, but Cait wasn’t having any of it. Then one thing snowballed into another, and soon Allison was unsuccessfully attempting to diffuse a nuclear bomb of insults and crude witticism. Thankfully, Cait had excused herself before Allison’s temper cracked and crumbled.

But despite the arbitrary topic, Allison wasn’t angry. She couldn’t be, not at someone she knew so intimately, someone that was softer and cuddlier on the inside than most people she’d known.

Cait would occasionally fall into one of her moods, grouchy and almost completely unreachable with any sort of logic, and Allison would need to step up and initiate. Otherwise, their issues would never be resolved.

“I wouldn’t fret, mum. Miss Cait can be a bit… volatile, but she’ll come around,” Codsworth offered from the sidelines, pincers wrapping a shirt into an orderly bun for storage.

Allison nodded, fingers kneading her eyelids, and mumbled, “I know. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating. I suppose I should wait a bit before I go chase after her.”

“I agree, mum.” Then, under his robotic breath, “Poor thing…”

Claws tittered against the linoleum of the dining room table, and soon, Dogmeat was offering his snout for solace, slobbery maw plopping onto her thigh. She scratched the tip-top of his head, and his eyes closed as she attended to the itch.

“What am I going to do, buddy?” she asked him, but he just snorted, licked his lips and pawed at her knee. “Fat lotta help you are.”

She stayed there for a bit, watching the clock and releasing her stress into Dogmeat’s fur, contemplating her words and weighing what needed done. She determined that the appropriate time had passed, so she stood, displacing Dogmeat, and walked to the door.

The day was waning, the sun stooping low to the west, the air chilling in anticipation for night. Cait was nowhere in sight, so she trekked to the usual place: down by the river, near the old picnic benches. Dogmeat elected to hang around the house, investigating the flowerbeds and quelling the urge to uproot them.

She found her love where she expected: in the dull grass just behind the stone embankment, looking away from the neighborhood. Cait didn’t react to Allison’s footsteps at first.

But when she carefully seated herself beside her lover, she noticed… unease. That was unusual; normally, Cait was grouching about how long Allison took to get here, but now she just seemed regretful.

“Hey, Butterfly,” Allison said quietly.

Cait didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the horizon and seeped uncertainty.

Allison was surprised when Cait hesitantly but affectionately lay her head on Allison’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Allison’s doubt and worry and frustration faded into oblivion.

Allison scooched closer, wrapping her inward arm out around the small of Cait’s back, reaching over with her other arm and interweaving her fingers with Cait’s that gripped firmly. She rested her head atop Cait’s, face angling to kiss fiery strands of hair crunchy from dried sweat from the day’s earlier activities.

“It’s okay,” Allison murmured and closed her eyes.

Cait’s fingertips brushed across the knuckles, across the plain of the back of Allison’s palm, like she was inspecting a jewel of extraordinary value.

“I know I’m hard ta talk to sometimes,” Cait mumbled, nuzzled her shoulder absently.

Allison hummed.

“I’m sorry,” Cait whispered again.

Allison hummed, but this time she kissed the crown of Cait’s scalp, petting her side up and down.

They were silent then, the sun setting to the west, and Allison was momentarily transfixed by the orange glimmering of broken, glass skyscrapers jutting from the tangled sea of tree tops in the far, far distance. The air wasn’t scorching anymore, wasn’t even balmy, but was rather moderate and mild.

Cait spoke, and Allison listened. “Back at the Combat Zone, when things were gettin’ rough, I’d go up ta the roof and just look at the city. It would be all nice and quiet, and only I knew the way up, so it sort of became me safe haven away from the world.

“Wasn’t the roof pretty high up?” Allison asked through her hair.

Cait chortled. “Yeah. Ten stories, actually.”

Allison just enjoyed having Cait close.

“I’d walk along and plop meself right on the edge, and I’d just watch. It’s amazin’ what ya can see way up high. There were times I’d look down and wonder what would happen if I just… let go.”

Cait squeezed her hand, cuddled closer, whispered, “I’m glad I didn’t.”

Allison closed her eyes, imagined a world without Cait, and mentally shuddered. “So am I.”

More silence as they gazed at the monuments from a world long lost, but though the thought was selfish, she would give it all away again just to hug the woman in her arms.

“Listen, I…” Cait trailed off. “I know I’m tough ta handle sometimes, and…”

Allison mused, “You already said that, Butterfly.”

“Sorry.”

“You already said that, too.”

“Ya know what I mean,” but the bite that would be there in every other circumstance was gone.

Allison tickled Cait’s palm with her thumb. “I understand, Cait.”

“I just… Shite, I dunno how ta say it,” Cait struggled.

“Just say it, baby,” Allison cooed. “You know I won’t judge you. You know I love you beyond compare. Just say it, Butterfly. You can do it, I know you can.”

“I… I’m just… angry all the time. I thought I was angry at me parents, or at me slave masters, but they’re long gone now,” Cait admitted, and Allison recognized the plea for help. “I shouldn’t be angry at ‘em, right? Me blood shouldn’t boil when I think of ‘em?”

“But I am,” she despaired, drawing further into herself, “I am. I just hate ‘em, so _fockin’_ much, but that was years ago! I should be over it, right? I shouldn’t be scared whenever I hear a whip crack? I’m just bein’ a fockin’ coward, aren’t I?”

“No,” Allison whispered, hugging her so tightly, kissing her hair so intensely like she could cure her by doing so. And maybe she could? “No, Cait. You’re not a coward and don’t you ever say that ever again, okay? Don’t you ever say that again. You’re so brave, you are so, so _brave_. You are not a coward, Cait, okay? You are _not_ a coward.”

Cait didn’t respond, just basked in Allison’s embrace, vice-gripped her hand, filled her nostrils with Allison’s essence. And then Cait raised her head, looked into Allison’s eyes, and kissed her deeply.

Her lover’s tongue was an unexpected surprise, pleasant but a little ham-fisted, and suddenly Cait was groping her, was twisting around and feeling her up like it was natural to shift from suicide to sex on the head of a pin.

They parted for a moment, panting and dazed, and when Allison dove into the depths of Cait’s gorgeous emerald eyes, she found that unstable conviction. She could see it in her face too, and in the way she clambered into Allison’s lap. They were theatrics intended to rile Allison up, to release the floodgates and damn her if it didn’t work, with the way her lover rocked her hips into Allison’s, the way Cait was kissing her and salivating like a dog.

But that was the issue: they were theatrics. Cait didn’t wildly hump Allison’s body because she desperately needed the feel of flesh on flesh, didn’t frisk her abs or her chest because she had an unbelievable yearning to paint them with her tongue, didn’t moan into her mouth because she was so turned on that even the scant touch of her lover gave her pleasure. It seemed that Cait was doing these things because she thought that was what Allison wanted.

Then she was being guided backwards to the ground, her head touching down gently to the earth while her mouth was filled with Cait.

Cait halted, looked into her eyes again, and Allison could see that her heart wasn’t in it.

But her mind shorted when Cait sat up, skillfully undid the top few buttons of her corset and pulled downwards dramatically, those wonderful, plump breasts spilling out and jiggling slightly. Allison liked to think she was a restrained individual, a master of control, but when Cait began grinding, when Allison remembered that there were only three layers between Cait’s mouthwatering pussy and her own clit, when Cait grabbed her wrists and guided them sensually up her body until Allison was cupping both breasts, Allison’s inhibitions were almost forgotten.

She needed to restrain this vixen before Allison fucked her then and there. It was just her luck to need to prevent lovemaking with the sexiest woman in the Commonwealth.

However, the desire not to set a precedent was stronger, and she powered through.

Cait leaned forward, mouth agape to kiss, hair falling around her shoulders, and son-of-a- _bitch_ , it was so difficult to do it when she had her lover’s breasts pooling into her hands like they did, but she halted Cait’s progress when her face was but a foot away.

Her eyes fluttered open, confused.

“Cait?” Allison swallowed, willing her voice not to crack, to be even and steady.

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing this because you’re horny, or are you doing this because you think you need to repay me?”

A simple, “I’m horny,” would’ve sufficed, or for Cait, more like, “I’m fockin’ soaked.” If Cait said that, she would pull Cait in and make love to her, listen eagerly to the moans and the gasps and the labored breathing.

But Cait didn’t. She opened her mouth wider to speak, but then she pursed her lips, and Allison could feel the uncertainty, the embarrassment at being called out.

However, Allison didn’t want Cait to be embarrassed. She wanted her to feel loved and accepted, and so, after making a show of hiding away those magnificent boobs, she cupped Cait’s face instead.

“I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” Allison said softly, kindly, “You don’t owe me a damn thing, Cait. I love you and you love me; that’s more than I could ever ask for.”

She traced Cait’s cheekbones with her thumbs, eyes traveling over her nose, across her wet lips, around the silhouette of her face, and finally returned to Cait’s eyes.

“It’s not that I think you’re unattractive; I’d be lying if I said that. Lying _real_ bad. I just don’t want you to think that every time you piss me off, you need to… to eat me out or fuck me, okay? You don’t need to do that. I don’t just love your smokin’ body; I love your mind, your personality. I love… well, I love _you_.”

“I’m not your parents. You can make mistakes around me and I won’t get angry. And I’m definitely not your old slavers. I don’t expect sex from you to make up for a fuck-up, okay? In fact, I don’t expect sex from you at all, got it? That’s a wonderful gift from you to me that you can choose to retract anytime.”

That was a weight off Allison’s chest, and by the way Cait gazed at her with adoration and obsession and gratitude like she’d just answered Cait’s largest unsaid question, Cait had benefitted from the talk as well, as awkward as the ordeal may have been.

“Thank you.” Cait was smiling, nodding enthusiastically. “Thank you.”

And Allison stared up at Cait, at the smile that tinted her fair cheeks a rosy red. She noted how the sunlight lit a match in her hair, and the frizzy strands really were ablaze in twilight’s gleam. She noted how Cait was genuinely happy, how overjoyed she was to be here, and Allison sighed cheerfully. She wouldn’t change a thing.

Then Cait lay flush against her body and kissed her, and Allison’s presence of mind evaporated. She sacrificed her fingers to the fire, to the warm blaze that billowed in the soft breeze. She grinned ecstatically, tasting Cait’s sugary lips, fluids and spit trading and tongues gaily waltzing in the ballroom. Perhaps the best part was how content they were; under lust’s heady influence, they could never feel enough of the other, and when they kissed briefly in the streets of some shantytown, the contact was too fleeting to do anything justice, but here, when the air was temperate and the sun was disappearing, when there was nothing between them but love?

Here was just right. The kiss was perfectly paced. The emotions were warm and snuggleable. The pressure of their bodies, of their soft lips, was firm, yet gentle and attentive. The smiles were real and pure.

And when they parted, what remained of the breath in Allison’s lungs instantly vanished when she gazed up at Cait’s face. Allison now possessed a new definition of the word perfect, of the word beauty, and pasted on the page was the face of Cait right then. Blissful, worriless, darling Cait.

She would protect this treasure till the end of time, she decided. She was too valuable, too special for anyone to sully. Too good for this world, she realized.

She was almost sad when Cait bowed her head and hugged her, but then she remembered she awoke to that face very morning, and suddenly life was so much brighter.

“I don’t deserve you,” Cait whispered, breath hot on her ear.

Instead of launch into another monologue about how amazing she was and about how all the riches in the world wouldn’t hold the same value, she smiled light-heartedly.

“Funny,” Allison whispered. “I was just going to say the same thing.”

Cait was quiet for a spell, inhaling Allison’s scent, shuddering as Allison rubbed at all of her back with both hands.

“I’m in love,” Cait whispered. Like she’d just discovered a vault full of caps, like she’d revealed the secret to life.

“Welcome to the party,” Allison mumbled into Cait’s ear, enjoying the weight of the body bearing down on her. “So what’s it like?”

“I love you.”

They both smiled wider, held tighter, loved hotter.

Allison supposed she could take that as an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all in the next chapter!


	11. Cait's Considerable Skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support everyone, and enjoy!

While Codsworth tended to the dishes one dreadfully sunny afternoon and Dogmeat was wrestling with his teddy bear in the cool atmosphere of the house, Allison was strapping her work boots to her feet after a satisfying lunch and grouching about the temperature.

The heat was severe, and Allison grimaced at the thought of working in heavy denim under the sun. But still, she had to save Shaun, and she’d work for a decade in these sweltering conditions just to see him again.

So she tied her laces, pulled her hair into a ponytail behind her head, and stood with her jingling tool bucket in hand, the sleeves of her pale green mechanic jumpsuit knotted around her hips. She stepped forward to open the door, and grasped the handle.

A hand gripped her bare shoulder, and she twisted her head to see Cait’s face of confusion and concern.

“You’re not goin’ out in that heat, are ya?” she asked, nodding toward the outdoors.

“The relay won’t build itself,” Allison said. She leaned in and pecked Cait’s cheek before she turned around and twisted the knob.

“You’re gonna get heat stroke, workin’ like this.” Cait’s hand on her shoulder hadn’t surrendered, so Allison sighed and faced her.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll drink plenty of fluids.” She tried to turn again, but Cait held her firm.

Cait glanced at the contents of her tool bucket and looked knowingly at Allison. “I don’t see any water in that bucket of yours.”

“I’ll have Codsworth bring me a can of water later,” and she tried to turn, but then Codsworth had to speak his mind.

“Mum, the temperature outside is fifty-point-nine degrees Celcius, or one-hundred-and-twenty-three-point-seven degrees Fahrenheit. With all due respect, I strongly advise you to wait this one out, Miss Allison.”

An annoyed clench of Allison’s jaw and a withering glance toward Codsworth that ricocheted right off of his chrome shell. “Thanks.”

Allison looked back to Cait. “I’ll be fine. We used to travel in weather like this all the time, remember?”

Cait scoffed belligerently. “We didn’t travel if your Pip-Boy ever read above a hundred and ten.”

Allison remembered, and she also remembered how adamant she had been at the time. But her son wasn’t two steps away, back then, and thus, many of her strict rules had simply ceased to exist in the face of hope.

“Look, I’ll be fine, okay?” And she tried to turn away one last time, but Cait placed her palms at the nape of her neck and brought her in.

The kiss was sweet, as always, but Cait was more forceful in her application this time, thumbs running along her jawline as she fastened her lips around Allison’s. Allison’s resolve evaporated along with her breath, but she didn’t pull away to suck in air. That could wait; first came Cait, then came everything else.

Cait pulled away to look into her eyes, but Allison bit her bottom lip to keep her where she was.

“Ah…” Cait whispered, wincing slightly when Allison’s teeth drew the smallest amount of blood. Allison stopped at that, parting to assess the damage with worried eyes.

Cait didn’t care much about the blood, so she handled Allison’s face until their noses brushed and their gazes were one.

“Please don’t go. It’s not worth it.”

“ _He_ ’s not worth it?” Allison growled.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what did you say?”

“I said…” Cait glanced down to her lovers lips, sucked on her bloodied own and then they were kissing again. The toolbox clanked against the floor, and Allison’s arms were all around her, pulling Cait as far into her as she could. Their mouths only separated when their searing lungs were too much.

A hot wind from the opened door blustered Cait’s hair in front of her face, and Allison raised a fond hand and fingered the strands until they were perched behinds Cait’s ear.

“What was I sayin’?” Cait asked, and she gazed into Allison’s eyes until she was sure that Cait’s green were all that Allison could see. “I don’t know Shaun, but I know I’d be pretty fockin’ pissed if ya hurt yourself without reason ta save me.”

Allison said nothing, just stared guiltily.

“I told ya no heroics and ya promised me ya wouldn’t. Don’t break that promise.”

Allison was silent, but then she nodded after a long while of the dusty breeze pattering sand against her neck.

“Okay. I’ll stay inside today.”

“And tomorrow, if it’s as blisterin’ hot as it is today.” Cait was deadly serious, the fingers in Allison’s hair clutching her like Allison would hop into tomorrow and work herself to death if Cait didn’t hold her down.

Allison frowned. “But when will I work on the relay?”

“The mornin’s are cool enough. Ya can do it then.”

“But I spend the mornings with you.”

Cait spread a thumb over Allison’s cheek and watched the lazy path it followed. Her eyes, her stunning eyes of glittering crystal, looked right at Allison and she couldn’t think outside of how dazzling they were. “Then we’re just gonna have ta get up earlier, aren’t we?”

Cait let her head fall forward and nuzzled up under Allison’s chin, fingers still gliding through her hair. She deftly untied the ponytail without looking, and locks of red tumbled and tickled her ears and her forehead.

“Does that mean we have to go to bed earlier? You know, to compensate?” Allison asked.

Cait smiled into her lover’s flesh. “I guess so.”

A huff of air dispelled from above whipped through her hair. “You’re insatiable.”

Cait took in a big of mouthful of flesh right on Allison’s collarbone and sucked, massaging with her tongue and releasing with a pop. The area was glossy with saliva and purpling into a bruise, and she looked up with a mischievous, toothy grin, brushing nose to nose.

“You like it,” Cait said.

“No.” Allison kissed her briefly. “I _love_ it.”

When they kissed again, they held it as long as they could, smiles and warmth and windy gusts blowing their hair around.

They parted, and Allison said, “I’m here to stay, then.”

“Ya better be.” Allison loved when Cait giggled. The action didn’t support her mean demeanor at all, but that was fading over time, and the rarity of her fits of uncontained glee was diminishing as well.

Allison kissed her again before the embarrassed tint set upon her cheeks, and then Cait’s thighs were firmly around her hips and Allison was carrying her down the hallway. Codsworth would shut the door.

Allison plopped them onto the bed the moment they were within range, and then they were rolling until Allison was pressing down upon Cait who straddled her lover from below, legs locking possessively so that Allison couldn’t ever leave. Not that she would.

They didn’t make love; if they made any more, they would drown in it, so they were fully content to enjoy each other’s bodies without resorting to carnal endeavors. All plush lips and wriggling tongues and nipping teeth, smiles and affection and an unsaid “I love you” with every sigh. Fingers plowing through fiery locks and over pale skin, two frizzy bundles of hair that teased flushed cheeks, hips rocking into hips. Hands wildly exploring bodies, scraping and clawing and scoring their name into their lover so that everyone knew just who they belonged to.

“Mmmh,” and, “Ahh,” didn’t cease until the two sweaty bodies panted into each other’s throats, fingernails tracing delicately over shoulders and hips and muscular backs and thighs.

Allison’s words whispered against the shell of Cait’s ear. “I could get used to that.”

“Me too.” Cait hugged her, burrowed into the hot crease of her neck while she sweated from the heavy blanket trapping the heat in. But she wouldn’t remove her space heater even if her life depended on it. Cait thought it was good way to die anyways, warm and loved and tingling.

Cait snuggled closer. “Me too.”

 

**ooooo**

 

Evening was falling over the Commonwealth, and all the heat stored in the metal and the black asphalt and the melted rubber tires drifted up, up and away as they cooled. The sky was a gentle shade of orange that gradually gave way into purple on the far horizon, the burning skyscrapers in the distance slowly sizzling out from the bottom up.

Codsworth had wheeled the barbecue out front, and his whistled tune dipped and dived with the spatter of bubbling grease on broiling slabs of meat. Allison hoped it wouldn’t attract anything jealous enough to try and steal from them, but they were surrounded by water on all sides, so she didn’t worry too much.

They were out on the lawn watching the sunset and basking in the cool breeze and the radiating warmth from the ground. Cait was planted in a lawn chair, reclined and groaning because Allison’s fiery mop was clamped between her thighs.

But Allison wasn’t eating dessert before dinner again.

She also faced the sunset, legs crossed with Cait’s knees to either side of her head. Allison’s fingers intertwined with Cait’s toes, and her thumbs rubbed magic into the arches of Cait’s feet. She could feel the vibrations of her lover’s sighs as her fingers molded and squeezed.

“… Ah… Fock…”

Allison smiled and pressed her lips to Cait’s knee. “Anyone who was wandering by right now would think we were-.”

“… Better than sex…”

Allison gaped humorously. “ _Excuse_ me?”

She could hear the smirk in Cait’s voice. “Just wanted ta shut ya up…”

Allison jabbed a sensitive spot on Cait’s foot, and she hissed, thighs crushing Allison’s skull.

“Ow! Ow! Okay, I get it! I’m sorry!” Cait squirmed, and Allison laughed triumphantly, easing off and returning to the careful rubs and kneading. Cait exhaled dreamily, like her soul was escaping her body.

Allison gazed at the sunset, bathing in the little groans and murmurs and the friction of her lover’s skin against her ear. The scent of cooking meat dispersed and set her stomach rumbling, and she lay her head to rest of Cait’s leg so she could inhale Cait and the steak at the same time. It was a wonderful concoction, Cait and salted meat, but she knew which one she preferred the most.

Claws tapped against the asphalt, and Allison opened her eyes as Dogmeat trotted over with a stick vice-gripped in his maw. He strolled over expectantly and plopped onto his haunches, staring at Allison with those glassy eyes that begged.

“My hands are full, buddy,” she said, gesturing toward the wriggling toes between her fingers.

Dogmeat whimpered, scratched the ground, and dropped the stick.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine.”

Cait complained incoherently when she disentangled her hand, and Allison briefly wondered if her foot rubs really _were_ better than sex. What a disturbing thought.

She grabbed the stick at the end coated with the least amount of slobber and chucked it as far as she could. Both of them watched as the stick careened through the flaming sky, and thudded against the street where it battered for a second, then stilled.

Dogmeat looked back at her, and she didn’t even know dogs had a brow to furrow until she studied his features.

“Well? Fetch!” Her fingers wrapped around Cait’s foot again, and Cait hummed when she resumed the massage.

Dogmeat just sat there, shifting on his paws.

“You are the biggest jackass in alllll the Commonwealth.” His ears perked. “And you know that don’t you?”

His tongue lolled and he walked forward until he tucked his legs beside him and laid on his belly, his sniffling snout on her thigh.

Allison shook her head, and kissed the inside of Cait’s knee. “He’s not the brightest dog, is he?”

Cait mumbled something, shuddered as Allison’s thumb soothed an ache, and hummed placidly. Codsworth grilled the steak thoroughly, ensuring there was just a fraction of pink for Allison’s and a little bit more for Cait’s. Allison chuckled quietly, bouncing at the memory of Cait’s face when she’d learned there were more options for meat than blackened and charred.

The whoosh of the jet propulsion approached, as did the scent of food.

“Dinner is served!”

Cait whined when Allison’s hands abandoned her feet and received her plate, but to Allison’s pleasure, her legs remained a necklace around her chest. Working a fork around her lover’s feet was awkward but manageable, and the tinker of silverware against a plate tinkled just behind her ear. Dogmeat chowed on his own piece, ripping chunks and almost swallowing them whole.

Allison pondered thoughtfully while she watched the sun slowly snuff out to the west. Everything was alright at this moment.

The food was good. The weather was ripe for relaxing in the cool breeze. The showers were spectacular. The beds were soft and comfortable. Her woman was gorgeous and incredible.

Her woman. _Her_ woman. That was such a nice change, to have someone to love and be loved by.

She kissed her woman now, right inside the knee, and after she’d set her empty plate aside, her fingers creeped back between Cait’s toes. Allison was gazing into the distance when Cait shifted sideways, her fork clattering when she placed her plate on the ground.

Allison quirked a brow when Cait rolled her ankles until she’d displaced Allison’s fingers from her toes, and then planted into the grass to either side of Allison. Then Cait stood, and Allison ducked as she stepped forward.

Cait almost lost her footing, and Allison’s face was suddenly an all-too-willing seat for Cait’s ass. Cait’s magnificent ass, and just as Cait tried to push away to regain her balance, Allison’s hands reached up, gripped her hips, and pushed her backwards onto Allison’s accepting, grinning face.

Allison chuckled when she spied Cait staring at her from over her shoulder and through the valley of her cheeks. She licked once, lasciviously, tongue enveloping her lover’s undercarriage that tasted annoyingly of dry fabric.

“Ya know, I was gonna cuddle with ya until ya did that.”

Allison grinned widely, slipped a hand up and under her shirt and palmed her lover’s abs.

“What can I say?” her words were muffled. Her other hand pushed the cutoff of her lover’s shorts up until a single cheek was bare. Allison confirmed Cait was watching, and she was with hungry eyes and an amused smile she couldn’t hide, and then Allison munched as much as could fit in her mouth, smearing the perfect, exquisite flesh with her tongue. “I enjoy my dessert.”

Fingers reached around and threaded through Alison’s hair, and she looked back up. Cait smirked, aware of the influence she held over Allison.

“You can munch me ass later, darlin’. I wanna snuggle.”

Sex? There was the slightest possibility that she could resist Cait when her tongue dripped of lust, when her eyes were dark and her thighs were sheening mildly in the lamplight. Only slightly.

But snuggling? There wasn’t the faintest chance in hell that Allison could ever refuse snuggling.

And so, with a forlorn gaze at her lovely cheeks, she kissed them each once, and steadied Cait’s hips as she pushed herself forward.

Cait chuckled at her reaction. “Is me ass really that scrumptious?”

Allison stared at her butt, smacked it with one hand and admired the fleshy jiggle. She wet her lips. “The most magnificent ass in the Commonwealth.”

Cait turned around, and Allison smiled when she caught a glimpse of the blush. Cait was so adorably easy to embarrass at the weirdest times; her ass was shamelessly smothering her face, but what pinked her complexion was an offhand remark?

‘ _Oh, wonderful Cait._ ’

Cait descended, seating her rear between Allison’s hips and her crossed ankles and Allison constricted her legs around her lover’s tush when she’d nestled like a chick in its roost. Cait leaned back into her and Allison’s arms slithered around Cait’s waist, Cait pressing flush to Allison’s front.

The sunset was imminent, the last few flickers of sunlight flitting through the trees, but Allison couldn’t care less about the sun as she burrowed her face into the junction of her lover’s neck and shoulder. Cait propped her head against Allison’s, and both sighed.

Allison’s nostrils were filled of sweat of and body odor and that scent that was distinctly _Cait_ , and she burrowed further until Cait was her entire sensory world. Until Cait’s heartbeat was all she heard, and the muscles of her abs and the tender flesh of her throat were all she felt. Until her salty skin was the only taste in her mouth.

Allison rumbled, and Cait absentmindedly stroked her thumb over the back of her lover’s palm, nudging her cheek through grimy hair.

“You’re missin’ the sunset, darlin’,” she whispered against Allison’s scalp.

Allison mumbled something, squeezed her tighter.

“What’d ya say?” she asked softly, lips to Allison’s hair while she watched the final remnants of sunlight disappear.

“You’re my sunset, Butterfly,” and Cait chuckled bashfully.

They would’ve fallen asleep there had Codsworth not tapped at Allison’s shoulder. Cait still dozed in her arms, her head rolling limply. Allison snaked one arm under her legs and one arm under shoulder and lifted her up with as much care as she could, her forehead against Allison’s neck.

She awoke halfway across the lawn, yawning and swiveling her head about to see where they were. Allison grinned, pecked her forehead, and nodded politely to Codsworth who kindly held the door ajar.

Dim lamplight greeted them, shadows thrown about like the inky aftermath of a mini-nuke.

Allison looked down, and Cait looked up.

“So are my foot rubs really better than sex?” Allison asked.

Cait examined her splayed feet as they passed through the doorway of their bedroom. She grinned up at the waiting face. “I can still feel me toes, so you’ve got a ways ta go.”

Allison lay her on the bed, cradling the nape of her neck and pressing her smiling lips to Cait’s. They parted, Cait visibly not content that Allison was still standing and wasn’t on top of her.

“ _Come here_ ,” she said, eyelids fluttering shut as she reached for her lover’s mouth. She couldn’t find them, and frowned when she opened her eyes.

Allison nodded to the doorway. “Shower or bed? Doesn’t matter to me.”

But it most certainly did, and Cait could see it in the uncomfortable way she shifted and nonchalantly rubbed her thighs together.

Her immediate thought was bed, because Cait liked being filthy and dirty when they were getting filthy and dirty. Then she remembered her promise.

“Ya gonna munch me ass like ya said ya would?”

Allison licked her lips, and her eyes darted downward.

Cait smirked. In the palm of her hand.

“I’m thinkin’ a shower and a nice, hot tongue would be good right about now.”

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison had tells just like anyone else.

She had more of a handle on hers, but she still had them either way. Her pupils widened infinitesimally. Her knees spread half a centimeter. Her elbows on the tabletop and her hands clasped together to obscure her pursed lips.

But mostly it was her focus. Eyes intense and transparent to her needs, they never strayed from their target, fixing them with a gaze that was almost tangible.

Cait was her object of obsession at this moment. While Allison sat at the dining table with her pupils wide, her knees spread, and her elbows on the tabletop with her hands clasped before her pursed lips, Cait was at the sink refilling her glass of water.

She was completely unaware of the eyes on her, staring absently down at her water glass, but Allison was still convinced she was doing it on purpose. There was simply no other way Cait could possibly draw this heavy of a response from her.

Cait’s body was perfect, and Allison had gazed upon its naked glory countless times now, so she couldn’t decipher how the bloody _hell_ that body was doing this to her. She stared just a little bit longer before she finally realized:

It was her outfit.

Nothing but a pair of panties and one of Allison’s shirts, but that was what drove her mad. That she couldn’t quite see _everything_ that she wanted to see. That she was so sexy in that baggy shirt and those panties that hugged her.

She could see her dainty feet and the nubs of her toes. She could see the legs, those long, lean, powerful legs that stretched and stretched up to thick thighs and Allison wanted to kiss them.

She could see the silky cloth mold to the sensuous curve of her ass, could watch those succulent cheeks covered by fabric jiggle and jounce and shift as she transferred her weight from one leg to the other and Allison yearned to rip them down and rasp her tongue up the wet crease like she had that morning. _Mmmmmmh_ , she could even see the damp spot from the aftermath.

She could see the silhouette of her breasts through the thin cotton of the shirt that was too big. From her side view, she could see a nipple rubbing against the fabric, could see the outline of the thin waist that flared out into wide hips.

She could see the wiry arms, the deceptively powerful biceps that were hidden beneath the too-long sleeve of the t-shirt. She could see the dexterous fingers around the glass that filled with water, the fingers that weren’t afraid to swim and wriggle in Allison’s heat for _hours_ at a time.

Cait turned off the tap, brought the cup up to her lips and- oops.

Allison watched as a single droplet of water trailed down her round chin, down the flawless column of her slender throat that gulped greedily. Her gaze razed up to her lover’s face, to her plump pink lips and the soft eyelids that closed, to the long, charcoal lashes and to the wild mess of fire that dangled down over her shoulders in the kitchen window’s morning sunlight.

Cait sighed, placed the cup onto the counter, and then she was turning away from Allison and walking to the far counter.

Allison watched as her ass bounced and swayed and her lips parted when she remembered the juicy, delicious treat between those cheeks and those thighs and Allison’s mouth cracked open at the memory of being there.

Cait pivoted around, directly facing Allison but her eyes were trained on the floor in thought and now Allison could see how the too-large collar wasn’t centered just right, was pushed to the left so that Allison’s eyes could rake over her defined collarbone.

And when Cait finally looked up, when her jaw dropped half an inch from the intensity of the ravenous gaze she was recieving, when a fire sparked in those emerald irises, she was the sexiest woman there ever was.

And then she wasn’t Cait anymore, not as Allison knew her; she was a vixen, with hips that sauntered towards her, eyes that looked her over like a piece of food, and an ability to turn Allison’s legs into wet noodles. At least they were wet.

Allison stared and Cait glared as she neared.

Not even the table could stop her. Rather than waltz around, she effortlessly transitioned from a sauntering seductress to a snarling panther that glided over the tabletop, shoulder blades jutting from her back, hips high and sashaying.

Cait arrived, her breasts dangling freely through the wide cleavage, and both women leaned in. Their lips pressed, but it wasn’t a kiss; Cait wouldn’t allow that now, and Allison pushed and angled her head to capture all of Cait’s mouth but she couldn’t. So they stayed there, eyes wide and glaring, breathing steamy lust into each other’s mouths.

Cait retreated and leaned back on her butt, bringing those long legs around, lifting them high, high up and then down until her ankles rested on Allison’s shoulders.

Cait paused here, allowing her lover to stare at the wet strip of silk between her thighs, and then the ankles simultaneously traveled lower. Down the curve of her shoulders, her upper arms, and as Cait’s knees bent to continue all the way down to her hands gripping the seat below the table, she scooted forward.

Forward, forward, and then she leaned in, pushing Allison’s shoulders firmly to the backrest of the chair and then she was lowering herself into Allison’s lap, pushing their bodies together tighter and closer and tighter.

Cait’s features were sultry but stern, evoking reactions of all kind, but as the distance between her and those lips lessened and lessened, Allison’s discipline shattered for a split second.

She darted forward and kissed Cait, actually kissed her.

And then Cait was Cait again, loving and desperate and scratching at the back of Allison’s neck to pull them closer because she needed this _just_ as bad. They kissed and whined and celebrated the few moments they knew they had before the game resumed.

Then Cait stilled, pulled her mouth away violently, and she shut her eyes to reassume character.

She opened them, a cold, green glare where used to be. Cait grabbed her wrists, dramatically forced them lower until Allison was gripping the seat of the chair again, and panted into Allison’s ear until she was obedient.

“ _~No touchin’ unless I say~_.” It was a command, and Allison shivered, opened her eyes.

And it began.

Cait straightened, stood on her knees that straddled Allison’s thighs. And she rocked.

Her hips swayed with sensual grace, to and fro, side to side, her hands intertwined behind her head. Allison was transfixed, her eyes on the hips that ghosted over her lap, not quite touching her. Her breath was in her throat, billowing as the thighs shifted and swung with precision down a long, complex pattern.

Then she looked up, at the shirt snagged on her lover’s nipples and she realized that her whole body moved in rhythm. She stared at the thin waist that danced, gazed upward at the chest that swayed in just the right way so that her breasts bobbed and swished. Cait’s whole body rippled, undulated like a wave, and Allison was totally hypnotized.

She looked up to Cait’s face, and noticed her eyes closed in concentration, lips mouthing the numbers to the dance.

She opened her eyes, her brilliant, green eyes that could woo the sirens at sea, and she surged forward like the ocean, grinding up against Allison and she could barely breathe because Cait’s arms were around her head, her body was arched into Allison’s, their faces were so close as they tilted back.

Allison’s eyes shut on instinct with Cait’s face nearing, her mouth wide and gaping, but she didn’t claim the lips that skirted and pressed tauntingly; it was a test, to see if Allison deserved any more.

Allison’s grip on the seat was approaching the pressure required to crack the wood when Cait deftly pinched Allison’s tongue from her mouth with her pearly whites and sucked, when her lover’s hips ground lasciviously into hers. When her lover’s bosom rubbed against her chest, when there was so much hot friction as Cait rubbed against her and breathed lusty breaths.

The torture was agony and pleasure for what seemed like forever, and then Cait pulled away, just enough to loop her fingers around the straps of Allison’s tank top.

Allison raised her arms to the ceiling, and Cait pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside. The white bra was next, and Cait’s fingertips dragged along the flesh under her armpits, dragged all the way around until their bodies were flush again.

The tension binding her chest loosened, and with Cait’s help, she shrugged out of the bra. Cait guided her wrists back to the seat, and neglected Allison’s free breasts entirely.

Instead, she surged forth again, chafing ticklish sparks along Allison’s nipples, lips haunting all the way up from the valley of her boobs to her throat where her they kissed the skin. They kissed again, and again, and then Cait bit her throat. She breathed against the mark she left, and then she bit her again.

And again, and then she sucked, and she rolled her hips and she trailed her palms down Allison’s shoulders. She sucked again, Allison’s eyes shut, her head thrown back as her lover marked her.

She kissed her neck viciously, pushing herself into Allison like they would merge into one form, breathing erotically. She kissed her jaw, nipped the flesh, and kissed her cheek. She kissed the corner of her mouth.

Then, Cait twisted in her seat until she faced away, leaned away, her ass pressing into Allison’s crotch and Allison humped her. Cait allowed it, looking over her shoulder straight into Allison’s eyes with an unreadable expression, grinding down as Allison ground up, gyrating into each other while eyes poured undiluted desire.

Cait’s hand reached downward, and the zip of the zipper on Allison’s jeans spiked her pulse. Then Cait was pulling her pants from her legs, and Allison straightened them, kicked them off under the table when Cait couldn’t reached them.

Allison was only in her panties, and that confused her because that wasn’t how any lap dance she ever received had transpired. Then again, this whole show, was unlike any she’d ever received anyway.

She’d experienced a lap dance from a man back when her girlfriends carted her with them to clubs and the like, but this was her first time with a woman.

Cait wasn’t hunky like the man, but was lithe and agile and curvy. She was sensual and sexy, and her body moved so intimately, so passionately against Allison. She was… womanly, and gorgeous.

And Allison lover her. Perhaps that was why this was so different?

Allison was yanked from her rumination when something damp and hot flickered against her crotch, and she remembered that only two thin layers separated them. She remembered again, audibly, when Cait’s dampness stroked against hers, when she watched that silk-covered ass voluptuously grind into her then pull away, closer then farther.

“ _~Mmmmmh~_ ” Her lips pursed, her eyes shut tight, and her brow furrowed whenever Cait’s clothed pussy kneaded her heat against hers.

Then Cait was reclining into Allison, was rubbing her rack into her back like a massage, was thrusting her ass into Allison’s hips. Cait’s hair swished forward and back, drifting away, then lightly batting Allison’s nose.

Cait stilled herself, planted her rear firmly in Allison’s lap, and then those spectacular legs coiled, then gradually unrolled until they were sky-high, pointing directly toward the ceiling. Then Cait’s hands wandered to Allison’s palms, lazily ushering them along.

Allison inhaled through her nose, and exhaled purposefully into Cait’s ear when her lover’s hands guided them to her hips. Allison understood clear as day, and she slowly slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties.

Then, with Cait’s hands over hers, Allison gradually pulled them up, up along those luscious legs until she met slight resistance. Cait spurred her onward, and so she pulled. Allison’s breath hitched as she watched from over her lover’s shoulder, watched as viscous, clear strands stretched between the damp of her ascending underwear and her crotch that glistened like a turkey dinner, but this would taste so much better.

There were no teasing remarks, no whispers into Cait’s ear; Cait was wet for her, and that spoke for itself.

The panties continued up faultless thighs, up and over her knees, up her calves and Cait, flexible Cait, tilted her legs backwards so that Allison could continue until she’d flipped her underwear over her feet and let it drop behind them.

Allison could pin her to her now, could wrap her arm around to keep her legs high and plumb her depths until she couldn’t beg for more, but she allowed her legs to touch down.

Now Cait was escorting Allison’s hands up under her shirt, but they were along for the ride after that because Allison didn’t need guidance here. She palmed up her tense abs, tracing the grooves and the scars, and then she ascended and finally, _finally_ , she was in possession of her breasts. She fondled them thoroughly in all the ways Cait liked, and it showed in the erratic rhythm of her grinding, in her irregular breathing.

They pooled in her hands, and Allison squeezed them, rolled them in her grasp. She pinched the nipples and Cait drew in a sudden breath, her spine arching into her hands, and so she pinched them again. Patience came easy because this was something Allison liked to do. She liked to knead them, to roll the buds between her coarse fingertips.

Cait really liked that. Allison did it again, and Cait gasped.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and all too soon, Cait was guiding her hands down and away from her playthings. But then they removed her shirt in much the same fashion as her panties, and Allison could finally gaze upon her milky flesh over her shoulder. Soothing to the eyes and the hands, it seemed.

Cait’s legs parted, hooking around the outside of Allison’s knees and waiting. Allison understood, and when she opened her knees, she spread Cait wide like she was on display, like a camera snapped photos beneath the table.

A sexy photoshoot. Allison was definitely filing that one away.

Cait guided her calloused palms down, down over her abs until they rested on her thighs, until Allison’s fingers glided over her flesh, until her fingers draped down her slick inner thighs. Both women panted harder than a dog as Allison’s fingers trailed close, then far away. Close, through slippery arousal until her fingers brushed where they both wanted her to be, then far, painting with slick across her skin. Then close, then far, then close…

Cait kept her there for a moment, and then she tugged lightly. It was time.

Cait trembled at the first stray brushes of Allison’s fingers, and then she moaned outright when they dipped below. Cait was so wet, so overflowing with liquid heat, and Allison’s fingers swam through her folds, coarse pads of her fingers grazing her petals and massaging her clit.

All the while, Allison was planting butterfly kisses all across her neck, whispering against her lover’s skin and smiling at every response to her ministrations.

The fingers explored every part of Cait, the shallows where her sensitive petals floated atop a sea of clear, sweet arousal and the hypersensitive depths of her folds absolutely flooded with heat. They journeyed across the hood of her clitoris, and finally the clit itself when she’d coaxed it into the open. Her digits were thoroughly doused, her lover clinging to her eagerly, before she’d gotten to the good part.

She positioned her index and her middle of her right at the seeping entrance, and the fingers of her left were at her clit. She latched on to her lover’s neck with her lips, and prodded.

She plunged gradually, sinking all the way to her third knuckle, and she immediately began thrusting while she rubbed her clit.

Cait’s moans were soft and gentle, like the digits inside her because Allison wanted this to last. She wanted to listen to Cait breath erratically, desperately, to listen to the wet sounds coming from her lover’s snatch, so she was very careful and tender.

Cait’s core was lovely, tight and hot and wet, and excitement was coating Allison’s wrist and dripping onto the chair. Cait bucked lightly with every thrust that penetrated deep, gasped with every suckle against her neck, fluttered her eyelids with every circle meshed carefully into her clit.

The rhythm was slow and unchanging, pumping steadily into her lover, but her methods changed as Cait neared. She drummed against her far walls that sucked her in, and when Cait became too tight to drum, she stretched her as far as she could while she swirled her clit. And when she was too tight for even that, she searched.

Allison knew Cait well enough to differentiate between the little whimpers she made when she was close to climax and the high-pitched whines she uttered when her spot was stimulated. She followed the whines, adjusting just how she rubbed against that spot. She found that this time, simple friction sufficed, and so she pushed more on her forward walls with every wet thrust; both the whining and the whimpering increased in volume, so Allison kept stroking that spot, kept circling her clit with the pads of her digits.

She was so close. And though she didn’t need to say it, because actions spoke louder than words, she still put her lips against Cait’s ear.

“I love you, Cait.”

Cait twisted her head. “I love-.”

Then Cait was shuddering, her mouth widening into a silent cry as her eyes closed and she scrabbled to hold on to Allison’s hips. Her head tilted back onto Allison’s shoulder, and she gasped loudly, stomach rippling as she ground out her orgasm.

Allison kept stroking, kept pumping and pumping against that spot and kept rubbing her clit as Cait tried to scream but choked with every attempt, silently wailing to heaven. Juices gushed, dripping distractingly onto Allison’s crotch, and her thighs quivered like they always did when the climax was phenomenal. And if that was the case, Allison couldn’t remember a climax that wasn’t phenomenal.

Her orgasm, like the foreplay and the buildup, was long and sensual and intense. And Allison fucked her through the whole of it, feeding off of the breathless panting and the friction as she wormed against her naked body.

Even when she settled, her thighs still spasmed regularly, her sweaty chest heaving and her head lolled against Allison’s shoulder. She was speechless for a while, enjoying the afterglow, but she realized that no amount of waiting would ever cure the tingling in her fingers and her toes.

She lifted her head and looked behind her, an uncoordinated hand reaching until it anchored in Allison’s hair. She pulled Allison toward her and kissed her sloppily, and though the tingling in her limbs exacerbated, it was a good kind of exacerbation. They parted reluctantly with slobber at the edges of their mouths, and they stayed there, Cait’s head on Allison’s shoulder with her lover’s arms around her waist.

Cait’s eyes opened in an instant, eyes focused on Allison, and her core pulsed when she realized Cait would finally assuage the ache with those plump lips wrapped around her-.

But Cait flashed a wicked smile, disentangled herself from Allison’s bewildered arms. She sighed as she stood up straight and stretched her arms out wide, arched her back so that her ass popped up in a provocative manner.

Cait yawned. “Mmmmh, thanks love. I’ll be at the coffee table cleanin’ me shotgun…”

_What?_

Nothing for Allison? Nothing to ease the stress she’d caused, not even a little oral? Nothing at all?

It certainly seemed like it when Cait clasped her hands behind her head with no intention of turning around. Stretching, stretching, sighing…

Allison was angry. She was rarely angry at Cait, even in her lowest moments, but now she was _angry_. So Cait thought she could wind her up with no repercussions huh? Thought that maybe, just this once, she could get away with it?

Her eyes glared, her fingers almost splintered the seat, and her jaw muscles bulged. This was so unlike Cait, but she didn’t notice. She was too angry, too sexually frustrated with the beautiful specimen before her that she couldn’t put two and two together.

Until she looked up. Until she caught the glint in her emerald eyes glancing over her shoulder. Until she caught the flash of a smirk on her mouth. Until she looked down, realized that Cait’s ass hadn’t moved to the coffee table in the living room yet.

Allison was playing right into her hand, and that infuriated her even more. Deliciously so, in fact, so wonderfully tantalizing as the fury bubbled and broiled while she stared at her vixen’s ass, up her strained back, up her biceps cleverly flexing to show off her guns.

She stood.

She reached out, threading her fingers through that hair and yanked her back.

Cait yelped, squeaked, but there was smile in the voice. There was a smile as Allison yanked her hair until her back was flush with Allison’s front, as Allison sandwiched Cait’s hips between the table and her own crotch. As Allison’s other hand raked her trimmed fingernails up her undulating abs with enough force to score red marks.

Allison’s mouth was to Cait’s ear, but she didn’t say anything. She just breathed, hot and heavy, and though Cait was riling up, was grinding minute motions into Allison’s crotch and was tingling all over again, they both knew Cait was in control. They both knew this was what Cait wanted, the Allison that seethed and frothed and scraped and scratched.

Allison’s rage only inflamed.

“Someone’s a bit worked up…” Cait said, arms reaching behind her and pulling Allison into her.

Allison had no response in the immediate, just nipped her ear and breathed.

Cait cried out as the fist in her hair pushed her forward, practically slammed her onto the table. Her breasts squashed, her palms flat against the table as Allison leaned down, pressed her boobs into Cait’s spine, and breathed into her ear.

Cait was going to say something witty, look at her from the corner of her eye, but then Allison started grinding, rolling her hips into Cait’s ass, started biting her lobe like she was going to tear it off, tongue slithering into her ear canal. And Cait almost lost it right there, but she was strong willed, and the desire for _more_ burned brighter than the desire to simply give in.

“ _~You think you can just take what you want from me?~_ ” Allison hissed, and Cait shivered. “ _~You think you can take your pleasure and leave me to rub myself off?~_ ”

Mmmh, Allison rubbing herself off. Cait would have to ask for that later.

“ _~Fine.~_ ” And she shivered again. “ _~Be careful what you wish for.~_ ”

Then Allison stood straight, uncurled the fingers from her lover’s hair, but Cait didn’t dare move away from the table.

Allison’s fingers reached out and ghosted down the nape of her neck, running over the goosebumps that raised in response. Her hands cupped her lover’s shoulders, and she looked down on her prize laying face-first on the table.

Truly remarkable. Allison would lock her away if she could, for her own personal pleasure. Cait would like that.

The hands drifted slowly, sensually over the points of her shoulder blades, down then up her flexing triceps and Allison hummed mentally; she had a thing for muscles. Big muscles and a big ass, and Cait had both.

Down the sinewy expanse of creamy flesh so pale, so delicious, reflecting the afternoon sunlight that filtered in from a nearby window. She practically glowed in the light. Like a firefly. Or an angel.

An angel fit her better, and for a moment, Allison could swear she saw wings. So gorgeous.

Her hands traveled farther downward, tangent to her spine, down her lower back until they gripped her waist. She bumped her crotch against Caits ass, and she looked down, fantasizing what a nice, purple dildo would like spanning the gap, all covered in Cait’s fluids.

They needed a strapon. Allison would make one later, when she had the time.

The hands continued, palming over the waist that flared into wide hips, and finally, she was grasping the globes of her ass. She stepped back, just far enough to have enough room, and she gazed with unadulterated fascination; though she didn’t ever say it, Cait enjoyed being openly admired. By Allison at least; anyone else, and they’d receive a few grams of supersonic lead to the eye just for looking.

Allison felt privileged to hold these globes, these perfect, milky, supple cheeks. Just the right consistency and size. Like a couple of sponge cakes, but sweeter. If the words “perfect ass” were in the dictionary, there’d just be a picture of Cait’s flawless posterior.

Allison smacked the right cheek, smirking when Cait yelped. The flesh rippled, mesmerizing and mouthwatering. She smacked it again, and again, and again. And Cait yelped, hissed, chuckled through her pursed lips like a woman gone mad. Allison smacked the other side for good measure, smacked it until both cheeks were equal shades of red. Then she smacked both, Cait arching her spine and propping her ass up.

But Allison was done with this teasing; she wanted to feast, and she wanted to feast now. Codsworth was nowhere in sight to make lunch, so she would have to do with Cait.

She kneeled. She spread those malleable cheeks with her thumbs, licked her lips at the tight ring splayed for her.

“You’re clean, aren’t you?” she asked. Demanded, more like.

Cait smirked over her shoulder. “Pretty sure ya cleaned me right up this mornin’.”

Allison smacked her for her disobedience, but she had her answer.

The first lick was always cautious, confirming that it truly was uncontaminated. But the second lick was rough, rasping all the way up between her cheeks, rasping at her sensitive asshole. Cait gasped, stood on her tiptoes and pushed herself further onto Allison’s face. Allison opened her eyes, saw how Cait’s head was thrown back, how she scratched at the table for a hold but they weren’t on the bed, so her arms spasmed uselessly.

Allison closed her eyes, devoted all her concentration on eating, pushing her face as flush to the curves of her lover’s ass as she could, hands pulling her lover’s thighs toward her. She licked up again, and Cait bucked, groaning. She kissed her puckered hole, pecked it, then opened as wide as she could and stuffed her mouth around her.

Her pattern was field-tested, used many times since that night where they’d gotten dirtier than they usually did.

First, she would lick all the way up, teasing her cunt and chafing all the bumps and coarse textures of her tongue over her asshole in one, vigorous lick. Cait would gasp, would struggle to find her breath after Allison scattered it all around the room.

Next was the meat of the pattern. She would circle vehemently, would rim around her with her tongue anchored at the center. She would stroke as much of her as she could while she circled, would breathe hot, teasing breath against her flesh. Cait would moan and writhe and choke to breathe, would squeeze her eyes shut and part her lips into an “O”.

Then, she would push into her with her tongue. She couldn’t go far, maybe half an inch at the most, but her jaw muscles grew stronger every day. Cait would scream as it entered her, as it shallowly thrusted and glazed her.

Then, Allison would pull out, would taunt her with light tongue thrashings that paled in comparison to the previous. But that was the point: to give her time to frustrate, to stew in desire. Cait would whine here, but she would never tell her to continue, because she knew the pattern well.

Then a kiss, maybe a loving two, a smack to her asscheeks, and then she would lick all the way up her from her cunt to her hole and the pattern would restart.

Fingers threaded harshly through her hair, and Allison opened her eyes. Cait wasn’t flat to the table anymore. She was leaned forward, back arched dramatically, one arm supporting her weight while the other grabbed Allison’s hair and pulled her further into the heaven between her cheeks. Her head was bowed low, hair cascading all around her vision. And her breathing was so ragged, so needy.

“ _~Alli… Fock…~_ ” So whiny and high-pitched.

“ _~Alli… So fockin’ good… So fockin’… Ugh…~_ ”

Cait was tortured. She needed more stimulus; the pressure was building, was already so explosively high, but without a little action from her pussy, she couldn’t cum.

Allison could’ve suspended her here forever, and she so wanted to, but she softened with every pathetic, “ _~… Alli…~_ ”

The thumb of her left hand pressed mercifully against her lover’s clit, pressing gentle circles because, again, she wanted this to last. Three fingers from her right prodded at her lover’s pussy, three because Cait was sopping wet, so wet that she was spilling onto the floor between Allison’s legs.

She pushed in, and Cait moaned. She was so tight and tense that Allison could do nothing but pump. Nothing but pump rhythmic, passionate, leisurely strokes, and Allison with her mouth full of five-star ass was just fine with that. She found that spot again, soaking in the whimpering but listening intently to the whining, and she experimented. This time, it was curling strokes, like a come-here gesture that provoked the most reaction, and when she paired it with a stroke to her ass, the response was magical.

So she curled and pumped and licked her ass for a happy eternity, flicked and played with her clit and her folds and drowning in the symphony that was Cait’s ragged, ragged breathing, her whines and her moans.

Then Cait was gasping, screaming silently again, and her pussy clenched around her fingers. But Allison wasn’t a quitter, so she pumped with more force, ate her ass like it was Codsworth’s home cookin’, and kneaded her clit like it was fragile dough.

Fluids rushed down her hand and her forearm, and for a split second she was lapping up the sweet ichor, drinking and slurping loudly and working Cait like a spigot.

“ _~Oh fock… Oh fock… Oh fock…~_ ”

And her thighs quivered, rattled, and she collapsed against the table and writhed. Allison prolonged it as best she could, chowing down and thrusting and rubbing. She was extremely satisfied with how long and intense Cait had came, content with her work and the goopy mess on the floor.

Allison kissed each cheek, each quivering cheek because Cait’s legs were _still_ racked by small tremors. She gazed appreciatively over the puckered ring glazed in saliva, over the puffy slit that leaked cum and arousal. She frosted her fingers under the unsteady drizzle, brought them to her mouth and licked up every last bit of its sugariness. She even went back for seconds, then thirds.

She stood.

She didn’t need to say it, didn’t need to affectionately kiss Cait’s spine and whisper, but she did anyways.

“I love you.”

“More than the stars in the night sky. More than all the caps in the world.” She kissed her spine one last time to show that she was loving and caring now, and then she gradually rolled her over onto her back.

Like a painting in the patch of sunlight on the table. Her pale skin glowing, her arms limply sprawled to either side. Her eyes fluttering to stay open, her cherry lips slightly parted in ecstasy, her hair a halo of fire around that beautiful face. Her chest heaving, her flawless breasts topped by pink nipples, her rippling abs. Her creamy thighs, slathered with cum and arousal…

Cait’s breath hitched when Allison’s digits tickled her thighs, running up and down and inside. She was almost completely tuckered out, used and splayed on the table. Perhaps a bit more lewd than most, but in this light, she really did deserve her own painting. A picture, at least.

Allison removed her panties, tossing them aside and delirious Cait watched them land somewhere near the living room. Allison’s gaze raked down her body, down her barely-parted lips and her full breasts and her silky abs. To her pussy.

Allison gradually raised a single of Cait’s thigh, and Cait watched her attentively. Cait watched her run her hands all the way up and all the way down, kissing her calf and then looking straight at Cait while she hugged her leg to her.

And then Allison’s leg was lifting around and gently settling upon her body, and Cait absently wrapped her arms around it. There was no anger left, no mischief between the both of them. Only looks as soft and warm as the sunlight that streamed over Cait’s naked body. Allison pushed forward.

Cait was so moist and hot against her, and through some act of sheer willpower, she managed to keep her eyes open when Cait’s molten slickness was pressed against hers. A gentle moan escaped Cait’s lips as her eyes closed, the definition of pure beauty, and Allison’s heart melted at the sight.

She rocked once, and they gasped. So warm and gooey and intimate. The angle was perfect; they were pressed together as snug as jigsaw puzzle pieces, all of the sensitive spots kneading into each other.

She rocked again, and they moaned.

She rocked and kneaded and rocked and kneaded and they moaned and moaned and moaned. Love dripping down their thighs as they rocked. Love bursting flourishing from their hearts as they moaned.

Love as they blubbered and came miserably.

 

**ooooo**

 

The shade was pleasant in the morning sun, the lone checkerboard of tiles the only wall still standing. But Allison was glad she hadn’t knocked this one down just yet; it provided excellent shade for cloud watching, and she was grateful for it. All the trees were leafless, so this wall was a godsend.

The brittle grass crunched beneath their ratty blanket they’d discovered cowering in the depths of the closet, and though the fabric wasn’t satin, it was more comfortable than the ground.

Cait was perpendicular, her head lounging over Allison’s bare stomach, because Cait’s restless mop of hair that tickled her flesh had hitched her t-shirt until it bunched up under Allison’s breasts. Allison didn’t mind, even preferred it over the alternative.

It seemed inevitable that whenever they shared a moment, Allison would be exploring Cait’s hair, and this time was no different. She liked the way the strands swished against her skin, was almost lulled to sleep by the delicate feeling.

Cait’s finger intruded upon her view of blue mixed with white.

“That one looks like you.”

Allison followed her direction and a brow quirked.

“I am _not_ that fat. Plus, the chest isn’t big enough.”

Cait snickered. “Damn right.”

Allison inhaled through her nose, the cool air numbing her nostrils. This was a nice break from her work, from the heavy lifting and the sore fingers. Shaun wasn’t too far away now, but she wasn’t in any hurry to rush the final stages and screw something up.

A question occurred, and though the possible answers should’ve terrified her, she was calm.

“Cait?”

“Yeah, Sunshine?”

“What will you do if- when I save Shaun?”

Cait turned on her side, cheek nuzzling Allison’s belly, and frowned. “What do ya mean?”

Allison gazed up, examined the cloud and admitted that the wispy figure did sort of line up with her silhouette. She looked back down, hands clasped behind her head.

“Raising a child isn’t easy. I… I understand if, when the time comes, you don’t want to be burdened by that anymore.”

Cait’s brow furrowed, like Allison had just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “Ya mean… leave you?”

Allison nodded. “You fell in love with _me_ , not both me _and_ Shaun. I understand if…”

Cait was already shaking her head. Allison could see the angry furl of her nostrils, but Cait was working on her temper, so her words were measured. Strained, but measured.

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

Butterflies in her stomach as her Butterfly turned and placed a kiss to her stomach, rolling onto her hands and knees. She kissed her again, light and affectionate, and then she kissed just a little upwards. Then again, and again.

And then she was looking Allison in the eyes as she straddled her, as she planted an elbow at either side of Allison’s head and hovered inches from her face. Allison stared right back at the eyes that searched her, hands traversing her lover’s thighs until they landed on her lover’s waist.

“Say that again and I might have ta kill ya.” She looked totally serious, and Allison wondered if she wasn’t lying.

Then Cait lowered her body onto Allison’s, pressing flush because they were just that compatible, and she closed her eyes and kissed her with a gentleness and genuine care only Allison knew she was capable of.

Cait’s lips were so light on hers, like flitting wings, but she conveyed so much in the contact they may as well have been ripping each other’s clothes off rather than the easy, peaceful embrace it was. Tongue met hers, because what was a deep, meaningful kiss without a little tongue? But they were serene with this dance, and Cait tasted so sweet and sugary and potent and in this moment, she was everything.

She was her happiness, her laughter and her sense of humor. She was her beauty, her body that was so soft and compliant beneath her roaming hands, and her lips so tender they felt like kissing clouds.

Cait parted, breathing without trouble but still winded, and when she looked down at her like that, Allison knew that Cait felt the same. Knowing all her adoration was returned was incredibly satiating, and Allison was as full as if she’d just eaten dinner.

Cait was going to say something, but instead, she ducked down and nuzzled up under her chin, breath warming Allison’s collarbone. Arms, big, muscular arms that could hold up the sky, wrapped around her, and she snuggled closer.

“I’m not leavin’. Ever. Not even for Shaun. Not even if ya tell me to.”

Allison smiled broadly. There were no words, so she just stared at the sky and hoped that Cait could hear how her heart beat against her chest, and could recognize that it beat for her.

The clouds were lovely that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the smut to fluff ratio is pretty staggered, but I think it turned out alright. How'd I do?
> 
> And I'll see you all next chapter!


	12. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Another chapter for ya!

The final piece. The last screw.

Well, likely not the last screw; she was sure she’d missed a few here and there, but this screw was special. When the threads chewed through the metal, the gateway would be complete. And from there, all she had to do was open it, and Shaun would be waiting on the other side.

Now, if she could just get the threads of the damn screw to bite into the material…

Allison grunted, pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut when the threads stripped in one fell twist of her screwdriver. This final stretch was eating away at her patience.

And her throbbing fingers too, and she grimaced, pinched the sharp edges of the screw and twisted it until the useless thing tinkled against the asphalt.

“Hey, Codsworth?”

From over by the control panel, an optic swiveled her way. “Yes, Mum?”

She gestured to the screw and the area she’d worked on, wiping her brow with the grimy rear of her forearm. Anticipation overrode her promise to stay inside for the afternoons that day, and the heat and the uncooperative screws and her aching fingers ripped all self-control from her sweaty grasp.

“I’m going to tear my fucking hair out if I try and fail this one more time.”

“I’ll give it a shot, mum!” He hovered over and she raised, grabbed the Nuka Cola a short ways away and ambled over to the shade of the leafless tree, plopped onto her haunches because the heat siphoned her energy, and let her head fall back against the trunk.

A mechanical whirring, and Allison sighed in relief.

Something snapped.

“Bollocks.”

She huffed through her nose, wondered if the screws she’d salvaged were the right size, and eventually put the thought out of mind and chugged more cola. She glanced down at the bottle, swished the fizzing bister contents around, and pondered the amount of preservatives required to render the taste and bubble the same after two hundred years of storage.

Probably enough to make her teeth rot, but she practiced good hygiene and Cait liked it when she ate sugary things. Made the kisses sweeter or something like that, but Allison couldn’t imagine them being any sweeter than they already were.

Another snap.

“Bollocks.”

“So what’s robo-brains up to this time?” Cait asked, and Allison turned her head toward the approaching voice.

Cait walked toward her, head angled to the bobbing chrome dome exchanging tools, her sweaty collarbone revealed by the tank top, and Allison licked her lips. She smiled warmly when Cait looked back, stopped beside her.

“You still mad?” Allison asked.

Cait frowned, put one foot over Allison’s thigh and lowered herself onto her lap, arms embracing her. Lips pressed against lips, body against willing body. Allison’s hands roamed her lover’s sides, grazed her abs and gripped her hips, traveled up and under her tank top and pressed her closer until her body heat was more stifling than the sun.

‘ _Maybe_ ,’ Cait said, burrowed her fingers in her hair and Allison relished her soft lips, nipped them and worshipped them because they tasted better than the Nuka Cola.

“Bollocks.”

They tittered into each other, smiled at Codsworth’s expense. Parted when Cait was certain that Allison understood she wasn’t angry for working in the afternoon anymore. Forehead against forehead. Heart against heart.

“Sorry,” Allison said, absorbing the emerald green hovering before her. “I thought you were coming to berate me.”

Cait frowned, injured by the implication. “Is that what ya think?”

“Is what what I think?”

“That I’m always angry at ya?” Cait asked, but she already knew the answer. Or at least she thought she did. “I’m not just a brute without feelin’s ya know.”

Allison was about to point out how wrong she was, but Cait bowed her head, nuzzled into her neck and squeezed tight. “Maybe I just wanna hug ya.” Her words were muffled into Allison’s skin.

But though her grip was tight, there was still an uncertainty in the way she held her, like she was afraid Allison would push her away. ‘ _Is this okay?_ ’ she asked, ‘ _Am I allowed to do this? Is this what couples do?_ ’

She could say a million things, about how her stomach transformed into a meadow of butterflies whenever she touched her, how she’d rather kiss her than breathe, how she wanted to hold her until the world fell to more nuclear fire and maybe even a little after that, but Cait was never one to believe flattering words.

So instead of praising her to heaven and beyond, she embraced her further, pulled her closer and plunged into the soft crevasse of her neck. ‘ _Well this couple does_ ,’ she replied.

Cait was nice. Like a big space heater she could cuddle and kiss and bake in her warmth regardless of the temperature. Salty, slick skin against her lips, against her tongue that swiped over her flesh. Heart thudding into her ear pressed flush. She hummed, yearned to stay there in the shade of the single tree and just melt into a puddle of sweat.

Cait’s head angled. Her lips whispering into her neck, her chuckle tickling her fluttering chest.

“Looks like Codsy’s givin’ up.”

Allison raised from her shoulder and glanced to the relay. Codsworth was soaring away, ducking through the doorway and disappearing inside.

“Seems like it,” she said, raked her fingers through Cait’s hair when she felt her head nestle into her neck.

She twisted her head to the horizon impaled by the steel giants of the city, her mouth buried in Cait’s hair, lips gently pressed to the shell of her ear. She inhaled, smelled faint traces of soap and prickly body odor and that uniqueness that was Cait- gunpowder and sex, but the former was overshadowed by the latter- and she lay down on the beach and let the waves wash over her, overwhelm her, and she unconsciously pulled Cait into her.

“We haven’t gone to the city for a while now, have we?” she asked, volume as tender as her fingers up and down her spine.

Cait would’ve shivered, but it was too hot.

“I forgot what the city looks like,” Cait said.

Allison smiled, looked out over the horizon. Looked at the past still struggling to stand tall and stay relevant. Imagined what Shaun would think of the view.

The Institute wouldn’t give him up willingly. They hadn’t released anyone else to her knowledge, so why would they now? Especially when she knocked at their doorstep and demanded him back? There would be a fight, Allison was sure.

Allison was no stranger to fighting. She was good at it too; so good, they’d pulled her from basic training and placed her in the special operations division. With her consent, of course.

They taught her to fight with a gun. A knife. Her hands. Her head. They taught her the common strategies of the Chinese. They taught her the common strategies of the United States. They taught her how to kill, her and battalions of others.

But they hadn’t taught her what fighting really was. Not awe-inspiring explosions and heroes firing from the hip. A clear view of the battle.

No, that wasn’t what fighting was like at all. Fighting was deafening. Bullets everywhere, in the air, in the dirt, in her enemies, in her comrades. And occasionally, in her.

And they hadn’t taught her what to do when all hope was lost. When the good ol’ U.S. of A. wasn’t around anymore to fight for justice. When the bombs dropped and the concept of civilization was blown to smithereens. These things Allison had to learn for herself.

And she had. She was still here, still breathing Cait in and ruminating over her military career.

That could change, and she’d learned that too. Too intimately, perhaps.

The Courser was difficult enough on his own; multiple would be a nightmare, but was that any different than regular day? The Institute was a synth factory, and she would face it alone. Not with the U.S. army at her heel. Not against untrained scavengers and raiders.

She would fight an army all on her lonesome.

And maybe, just maybe, she would die.

Her pulse spiked at the thought, her eyes worrying. There were things to live for now. One thing specifically, one thing that almost dozed off in her arms just then.

She was brought back to that thought again, the one she’d pondered at the noodle stand. What would happen if she died?

There was a cozy home, warm and comfortable and stocked full of food. Ammunition and weapons and plenty to entertain herself with, but Allison wasn’t certain Cait would stay. Wasn’t certain she’d stay clean, either.

Dogmeat would roam. Back to the Red Rocket, would wait for another wanderer to take her place. He would be okay.

Codsworth would keep the place tidy and organized and dust-free and he might be alright if someone were around to make a mess for him to clean.

Tinkering in the direction of the house, and both women focused on Codsworth as he returned to work, frowned when they glanced the gunmetal pistol clutched in his pincers. He floated over, stopped, aimed.

“Plug your ears, mum!” he called, but they were too focused to obey.

The shot echoed down the forest, the crack sharp and the _plunk!_ of a bullet slamming through metal. The women hadn’t startled, just watched as he set the pistol aside, hummed a merry tune, and fiddle for a few seconds.

“Aha!” he said. “A ten millimeter hole fits nice and snug!”

Cait snorted, and Allison turned her head.

“I could’ve done that for ya,” and she smirked, smiled her smile right in her face with that twinkle in her eye and it reminded Allison how much she didn’t want to die.

She kissed her, pulled her forward and mashed her lips like it was the last time she’d ever kiss her. Burrowed her hand through her hair to keep her there, her other frantically plastered to her spine, trying to touch all of her at once and even thought Cait didn’t know why she was being smothered, she accepted it, pressed into it, wanted more of it.

She couldn’t die. Not when she had _this_ , not when Cait’s tongue tasted so marvelous, when it rubbed so wet and sultry and _right_ against her own. When Cait returned every bit of fire Allison spilled into her mouth, when she spilled her own fire and it burned hot and bright and happy in her chest and Allison was suddenly so scared and afraid because what if she died saving Shaun and she couldn’t have any more of _this_?

That was too scary and too real.

She was pushing Cait into the earth of the shade before she understood what she was doing and Cait yelped, but their lips hadn’t parted, arms wrapped around necks as they unceremoniously hit the ground and there was a very real threat of passing out. But love was more important life, and they stay locked together ‘til the end, scratching and hugging and kissing and saliva drooling from the corners of their mouths.

A tear was what separated them. Dripped down Allison’s face because if she died she’d be all alone. Both would be, and she didn’t know what frightened her more, loneliness in death’s oblivion or loneliness in a world like this, but she knew it was indescribably awful either way.

Dripped down Allison’s face and plinked against Cait’s cheek and just before she succumbed to her searing lungs she pulled away, cupping Allison’s face because she was worried she’d hurt her in some fashion.

They gasped, gulped air, and when the pain in their chests subsided, Allison sniffled, tried to conceal her emotions but she wasn’t a stone beast anymore and Cait could see right through her.

“Sunshine…? Sunshine, what’s the matter?” Cait asked, brow furrowed, panting hard and fast.

She sniffled, gulped, savored the heat of her lover’s body seeping through clothing and melting her gooey heart.

“Nothing,” because at the moment, that was truth; she wasn’t dead yet, so she could still love Cait in all her gorgeous, brawny, feisty glory.

She kissed her, but this was slow and gentle and easy. Cait liked slow and gentle and easy; she wasn’t accustomed to it because nothing was ever slow, or gentle, or easy, always quick and rough and hard-won.

But there were untapped reservoirs beneath her surface, and Allison was a prospector who’d just discovered uranium ore. And when she’d been cracked open and all her passion flowed free, Cait never wanted to close again.

They parted when another tear dripped onto her cheek, Allison trying to smile it away but she could see that Cait was having none of it.

“Sunshine?” she asked, but Allison was shaking her head.

She glanced to the horizon, to the city.

“We should go to the city.” ‘ _… One last time,_ ’ she was going to say but caught herself.

Cait’s brow quirked, her thumb tracing down Allison’s jaw.

Allison shrugged. “I don’t know. Just thought it’d be nice to see it once in a while.”

Cait saw that the truth wasn’t hole, but she couldn’t see the piece Allison was hiding. She should be afraid, her first instinct to throw her off and run because Allison was lying.

She didn’t. She trusted her, loved her so much and she could tell through the kisses and the sappy gazing and the lovemaking that every bit was mutual, so she nodded. “Sure.”

Allison looked down, ogled her because she was her world and her world was beautiful and emerald green and fiery red and pasty pale. She brushed a damp clump of hair from Cait’s forehead, praised her with her eyes.

“Maybe even go on a date?” she asked.

Cait grinned. “That your excuse ta fock me silly?”

Allison grinned, leaned down until she could only smell Cait’s breath- soda pop and roasted squirrel. “I don’t need an excuse to fuck you silly.”

She pecked her lips, grinned when Cait wanted more but she didn’t give it to her.

“Besides, isn’t sex on the third date?”

“There hasn’t even been a first date!”

Allison smirked, kissed her again. “Exactly.”

She tried to pull away, but Cait followed her, pulled her down and kissed her passionately. “Ya try and deny me…” she threatened.

But Allison would never do such a thing, wouldn’t have the willpower even if she wanted to. “No… Would never…” between kisses.

Cait hummed, rolled her hips and they moaned. “Ya better not…”

 

**ooooo**

 

Dreary as always.

Not as much as was normal, though. There were shoots of sunlight sprouting through the swirling cloud cover, and Diamond City gleamed where the rays touched metal glossy enough to gleam. The neon Power Noodles sign still spat sparks and the chem pushers still hawked their addictions and the same old man sat on the same old box singing the same old tune.

The sameness was comforting, if not dull, but there was just enough difference that the guard decided not to waste gasoline to power the stadium lights. As such, things were harder to see, puddles more difficult to avoid, but at least the starkness was gone.

A lazy, day-and-a-half trek had them arriving just past noon, and the difference in temperature was greater than Allison had anticipated. But she was always prepared, with her heavy leather coat and her insulated combat boots and her bandana around her neck keeping the chill from seeping under her collar.

Cait was not so prepared, but Allison had prepared for that too. The moment she glanced a shiver rack her lover’s bare arms, she was yanking an aviator’s jacket from her backpack and shoving it into her silent lover’s arms. A small thank you, and Allison was going to tease but she realized any verbal jab would prevent her from ever thanking her for anything again.

She didn’t have a remedy for her skinny jeans. But with the nice view sauntering in front of her, Allison minded a lot less than Cait.

She looked rather stylish in that jacket, standing at the entrance overlooking the city. Like a captain of a ship.

Cait noticed her appreciating gaze out of the corner of her eye, hands in her jacket pockets.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Allison said, looked her up and down with undisguised admiration. “You look good.”

“Tch. I always look good.” She stepped forward, beginning the descent, and Allison followed.

“Hmm,” Allison said, the creak of metal echoing with every fall of her boot. “Good point.”

A pair of sneakers reached the bottom before the boots and stopped, waited for her partner to catch up.

Cait jumped when a hand connected solidly with her butt cheek, turned to clock the pervert into next month but the only face she found was Alison’s sideways smirk as she walked past.

“Nice jeans, beautiful. You look cold,” and the glare she received was withering, with a touch of playfulness, and she speed walked until they were side-by-side.

“Keep doin’ that, and I’ll leave ya hot and bothered when the time comes,” she said, and Allison glanced over to her.

“You leave me hot and bothered anyways, so I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Cait grinned. So maybe flattery was more effective than she’d let on.

They paused at the hub, watched the people mill about aimlessly, smelled the pungent dampness and stood close to a fire ablaze in a trashcan.

“So? Where’re we off to?” Cait asked.

She scanned the shops and the steam leaking from pipes, scanned the nothingness. “Somehow, I remember this place being less…”

“Absolutely fockin’ borin’?” Cait offered.

Allison’s choice of words would’ve carried more discretion, but after wading through options, “Yeah, I guess so,” because nothing else fit the pieces played.

“So?” Cait asked. “Where to?”

She looked to a red door on the far side of the main hub. “Let’s go check out my- our apartment here, make sure nobody broke in and stole anything.”

“Alright.”

And they were walking through the hub, past the man in the blanket strumming the guitar, through the aroma of the Power Noodles stand. She pulled the key from her pocket, fit the teeth into the slot, and twisted until the door swung inward.

Cold and damp, like the rest of the city and goosebumps crawled up her neck. But there was lighting connected to a fuse box, and, tired of the cold, Allison had installed several recovered heating units a while back, and when she flipped the lever on the fuse box, they sputtered, then roared evenly.

The lights fizzled on, and save a few boxes, the space was mostly empty. A weapons bench off to the side with a drill and a band saw, a stack of containers for useful junk and parts next to that, a toilet and a bathtub for bathing, a stove, a couple beds near an open vent, and that was about it. They’d never stayed long, just used it as a supply point to restock ammunition and food, so comfort wasn’t taken into mind.

Cait crossed her arms over her chest, and Allison pulled her close, dipped her head into her neck and breathed hot breath while she rubbed her hands up and down her back.

“Freezin’,” she said, and Allison visually checked everything, saw nothing out of order, then thought to the warmest place here.

“Let’s go to the bar.”

Cait nodded, and they were out the door and on their way to the dugout.

 

**ooooo**

 

The air smelled like beer, piss, and vomit, but at least it was warm. So sweltering in fact, that Cait removed the jacket as they stepped out of the hallway, tied it around her waist.

The commotion attracted eyes, and they lingered too long on her lover’s attractive form accentuated by the corset. Whether they were too drunk to realize or too skeevy to care, at least half the bar was staring blatantly, but Cait didn’t pay them attention; she was used to it.

Allison wasn’t. The looks Cait was receiving bristled her spine, and though the idea that Cait would stray from her for one of these sleazy, drunken fucks was as laughable as it was unrealistic, she was still insecure. Still possessive, like she had some obligation to remind them of their place.

Cait’s breath hitched when Allison’s fingers slithered through hers, and Allison snapped out of her jealous trance and realized the awkward situation she’d thrust Cait into. She retreated with cheeks shaded pink with shame.

But Cait squeezed her fingers, kept her close. Turned around and grabbed both of her wrists, guided them until Allison’s hands were gripping her ass and her hip, cupped her own around Allison’s face and pulled her in for a kiss that was way too sensual for the public eye. All tongue and sighs and even a little bit of grinding and Allison was floored but she played along.

Cait broke off, still in her arms, still only a hair’s breadth away from her face.

“Let ‘em stare,” she whispered. “Only you can touch…”

Allison gasped, aware of the audience but only focused on Cait. Chuckled when she had the breath to. “You’re such a tease… You get off on that, don’t you?”

Cait grinned a lecherous grin, pecked her once. “Ya get worked up too easy, love. Relax.”

And she relaxed, because Cait’s hand was still in hers when she led them to the stools and they took their seat, the audience averting their gaze but not their attentions. ‘ _Let them stare_ ,’ she thought, peeking over the rim of her glass.

Cait winked, tongue wetting her lips, leaned in, and Allison took her hand. Trailed circles over the rear of her palm, gazed at her pretty face, her cleavage, her waist. ‘ _Only I can touch_.’

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison wasn’t joking about taking Cait on a date.

There was nothing like Codsworth’s cooking in the entire Commonwealth, but the Colonial Taphouse was the most lavish eatery within reasonable distance, and so the duo found themselves perched on the balcony overlooking the city behind a white picket fence.

Twilight came and went, and now the veil of clouds dissipated and reveal the twinkling sky. Starlight pooled in puddles over the corrugated rooves, washed in rivulets down the dips and the slants and the shingles, silhouetted the dormant stadium lights.

They’d ordered their meals from that robot too rusty to be that snobby and pretentious- Cait would take the cheery optimism of Codsworth over this asshole any day- and now they were sightseeing and waiting for their food to cook.

“So what do we do until then?” Cait had asked.

“Look at the view,” she’d said. “Enjoy the weather.”

“Well it’s too damn dark ta see anythin’ and it’s freezin’ out.”

But Allison possessed a sniper’s patience, and hadn’t scolded her like an ungrateful child. Instead, she’d leaned forward, chin propped on her palm, stared with the hint of a smile.

“Usually we’d be all dressed up. In tight skirts that flaunted our curves, and we’d ogle each other until the waiter returned with our food.”

“I am dressed up. Beneath me jacket.”

“Nah,” Allison said, looking her over with sparkling eyes. “You’re fine just the way you are.”

So they stared wordlessly, like a couple from one of the romances of Allison’s ever-growing holotape collection, but Cait wasn’t poking fun at the situation now. Because she understood the feelings now, understood why people were so crazy and mad when love was involved. Understood why people could be so jealous and overprotective.

Actually, no, she didn’t understand that. Didn’t understand why Allison was so worried about losing her to another. She was the only human still with her humanity, the only decent person she knew of. The only person that looked to her heart before her cleavage.

Rationally, she was her only option, so even if her bold brusque and her brave spirit and her will to live hadn’t swept her off her feet and starcrossed her soul, to whom else would she run to? To the alcoholic who could barely stand? To the sober who she couldn’t stand? No, Allison was the single choice.

Then she must not think she was pretty enough?

Now _that_ was funny.

Sure, her bulky brawn shrouded her curves and she was taller than most preferred and her tits weren’t the largest. But her ass may well be, if only she’d show it more often. And all Cait saw in her muscles was her strength, her power, and Cait loved power. Thought it was sexy, the potential to pin her to the wall and no matter how hard she struggled, she wouldn’t be able to break free.

She was built for combat and survival and nothing else, but that appealed to her. The glamor models in the magazines and the strippers in gentlemen’s clubs were voluptuous and provocative, but they wouldn’t last a day outside of their cozy settlement.

But Allison? She killed with her bare hands, slept with the animals under the moon and the stars, hunted people for caps and beasts for food. She was a predator, simple as that.

A predator that gazed at her from across the table, genuinely concerned for her safety, the unspoken promise that she would hunt anyone that tried to harm her present in her bulging muscles and her striking eyes.

How was that not insanely sexy?

Did the men all prefer their women as damsels? Did the women assume she was straight as a board? Did they all fear her? Was that why they looked away whenever she walked into the room?

A mystery for the ages to Cait. But their disinterest meant she could hog her all to herself, and Cait didn’t like to share.

Their food arrived and they scarfed down their steak dinner, licking utensils clean, and Allison tossed the appropriate amount of caps onto the table. The robot swiped them off the table like they’d stiff him at the last second and steal back their coin, and then the nuisance was passive-aggressively lamenting about the time and more bullshit Cait couldn’t be bothered to listen to.

But then they were alone again, bellies full and table clear.

Cait smirked, leaned way out over the table until her bust was almost overflowing from her corset and her jacket, and smiled the succubae’s smile that lured men into its lair and apparently it worked on women as well.

“So,” she said, moonlight cascading over her pale globes, “What happens when dinner’s finished?”

Allison leaned in too, gaze torn between her breasts and her piercing eyes. “A stroll beneath the moon usually follows.”

A brow quirked, tongue curled behind her teeth. “And then?”

“And then I escort you to your house.”

“And then?”

“And then you invite me inside, under the guise of some excuse you cooked up over the moonlit walk.”

“And then?”

Allison grinned. “What do you think?”

“I dunno,” she said, leaning in further, whispering smooth and seductive, “How ‘bout I show ya?”

She was raising to go, and just before Allison stood as well, Cait leaned way, way over, reached out and pulled Allison’s shimmering hair, and she kissed her. Heated. Messy. Too much tongue and not enough contact but Allison loved overkill.

As suddenly as she’d started, she parted, a smile on her swollen cherry lips and scintillating eagerness in her emerald eyes that glowed under the stars. Allison braced the table like another bomb had struck, and Cait chuckled at the stare she received, pivoted and sauntered away.

She curled a finger over her shoulder, smirked when she glimpsed the quick transition of Allison’s focus from her ass to her finger, “Ya comin’? Or am I gonna have to finish meself off?”

Allison was up and walking to her before she could say another word.

“That doesn’t sound that bad. As long as you let me watch.”

She took Allison’s hand as they descended the stairs. “Ya better do more than just watch.”

The hub was quiet, the old man with the guitar nowhere to be seen. Neon pink and yellow smoldering the ground and reflecting like a mirror from the whites of weary eyes. More hissing steam and more silence.

Pretty, if Cait were artsy like that. But she wasn’t, so it was just a bunch glowing lights and nothing much happening. Boring.

But they were nearing the door, and excitement was building between them and in her pants. In the electric touch of their fingers interlinked and the brisker pace.

And then without warning, Cait was twisted around and shoved up against the door, one wrist pinned beside her head. And lips were shoved roughly onto hers, Allison’s lips, and her tongue forced its way into her mouth and slithered and bullied her into submission and people were looking at them, glaring like they were breaking the rules by being anything but somber but Cait didn’t care because a thigh pressed to her crotch and she moaned.

Fingers raked down her thigh wrapped around Allison’s waist, slipped up her shirt and pinched her nipple even though everyone watched but Cait moaned louder because _fuck_ them and their killjoy attitude and their boring rules; they were happy.

But Allison wasn’t for some reason, because Cait felt another teardrop plink against her cheek and even though the thigh rubbed her core and the hand rolled her nipple and the tongue felt divine against hers, she managed to open her eyes.

Allison was crying again, tears down her cheeks, eyes squeezed shut. Cait tried to push her away but then the wall behind her gave in and she only realized Allison had opened the door when it slammed shut behind them. The apartment was nice and hot now, thanks to the heating units.

Allison walked her backwards, walked until the rear of Cait’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and then all of Allison was on her, groping her, and any other time, this would’ve been a dream come true but more tears plinked against her cheek and she pushed up.

But Allison was an animal, thought it was part of the act and fought even harder, nipped and if Cait weren’t so concerned, she’d surrender and let Allison use her up until she was limp and gasping.

“Alli-!” but she smashed against her lips.

When she heard the buttons of her corset being popped apart, she finally found the strength to roll Allison onto her back, cup her face with both hands and push away, panting, ignoring the friction as her lover squirmed against her crotch.

“Alli… Alli!” and she leaned in and Allison stilled, looked at her and Cait frowned, worried because she looked so _sad_.

“Alli, what’s the matter?” she asked, chest heaving, and another tear spilled down her cheeks, her delicate, pre-war cheeks.

Allison pursed her lips, looked away like Cait wouldn’t notice but she did.

“Sunshine?” she asked, brow furrowed, growing desperate. She tilted her lover’s face so she was looking at her. “Sunshine, what’s the matter?”

Watery eyes gazed into hers.

“Is it me? D-Did I do-?”

“No.” Allison was shaking her head, “No, Cait. Butterfly.” She brushed Cait’s hair aside, pinned it behind her ear. “No, you’re perfect, Butterfly. Flawless.”

“Then why’re ya cryin’?”

A pause, maybe contemplating and Cait was going to tell her there was nothing to fear.

“I’m scared,” Allison whispered, green gazing deep into her eyes, and suddenly Cait was scared too, because if Allison was frightened, something terrible must be about to happen.

“Why’re ya scared?”

“I don’t-,” she said, thumb brushing more strands from her face. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Lose me?” Cait asked, “Why would ya lose me? Is this about the bar?”

Allison shook her head.

“I’m not leavin’ ya. I’d die before I’d ever do that,” she said.

“But that’s it. What if you die?” and Cait frowned, because they’d survived a lot of things they shouldn’t have survived, and death always loomed over their shoulders in the wasteland.

“We’ve made it this far, Sunshine.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do ya mean?”

Allison hesitated, fiddled with Cait’s hair. “But the Institute…”

Cait was silent. The vent thrummed and the walls creaked, the bulbs buzzed and the marketplace hummed.

“It’s going to be dangerous.”

“We’ve already talked about this. I’m comin’ whether ya like it or not.”

“I know,” and there was a hint of irritation.

Cait searched her, her eyes, her lips, her face. “Are ya scared I’ll…?”

Allison nodded, squeezed her thigh. Another tear.

Cait shook her head. “We’ll get through it. We always do.”

“But what if we don’t?”

“We will.”

She cupped her face, looked at her through the silence, looked with eyes that shed a few more tears. Felt the warmth of her face, her body.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

This time, it was Cait that swiped a few rogue strands from her lover’s forehead. “You won’t be.”

“But what if _I_ die?”

And it hit her like a ton of bricks, because she’d never thought of that before, never even considered it. Allison was invincible; she ate bullets for breakfast and wrapped her wounds in barbed wire, but what if she wasn’t?

“I’d be just as lonely, then.”

And an image sprang to mind.

A bullet tearing through Allison’s heart. Her blood all over Cait’s face, hands, arms. Her body limp, collapsing to the ground and no matter how Cait screamed, no matter how much she wailed and tugged at her body while bullets whizzed and firebombs exploded, she wouldn’t get up.

Running like a coward. Abandoning her like everyone abandoned Cait eventually.

“The Institute, they scare me.”

Crouched on the side of the street, eyes red and puffy, face cradled in her hands. No hope left. Hope died by a bullet through the heart.

“They’re good. Better than me, maybe.”

Her head hit Allison’s chest.

In a bar somewhere south, somewhere they hadn’t been before, because Diamond City brought the good memories and the memories brought the pain. Drinking the whole bar’s worth a tab.

“It only takes one mistake.”

Cait’s eyes glimmered, winced, pushed her forehead further into the warm chest.

In a bathroom now, branding more welts into her arm with tubes and pipes and syringes because it was the only thing that made her remember what her gentle touch felt like. Punching the stall door off the hinges because the chems brought the memories and the memories brought the pain.

“I don’t want to be alone again.”

A tear down her cheek. A sob in her throat.

Walking alone down a dusty road, no water, no food. Walking into the desert because there was nowhere else to go. Because she wasn’t a coward anymore, wasn’t afraid to leave this lonely world forever. Too afraid to do it herself though. That hadn’t changed. Best to let the vultures do it for her.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Cait sniffled, took in an unsteady breath of air, gripped the fabric of Allison’s shirt. Took in another breath, another tear.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

And Cait snarled, lifted her head up and glared through her matted hair.

“Oh, _you_ don’t wanna be alone?” she asked, growled, and Allison stared.

She crawled further up, wild, toxic green level with cautious emerald, inches away.

“So _you’re_ scared, huh?” she seethed, “Ya don’t wanna be alone, that it?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“But you’re not alone. What about Dogmeat? And Codsy? And ya got your fancy-ass home and your fancy-ass food, right?”

She pushed a finger into Allison’s chest, tears dripping down her taut cheeks.

“You’re not alone, ya fockin’ liar. Ya could lose me and keep on trekkin’. Ya got Dogmeat and Codsy and Shaun, but what do I have, _huh_? Why should _I_ keep goin’ if ya die? What do _I_ have?”

Allison stared, bottom lip pinched between her teeth, trembling.

“Fockin’ _nothin’_ , that’s what. I don’t have a dog or a butler or a son ta love. Don’t ya get it?”

But Allison didn’t react, and she smacked her chest to get a response. Nothing, and she clenched her teeth and sobbed again.

“Don’t ya get it, ya big lout? I’ve got fockin’ _nothin’_ without ya! I’m fockin’ _nothin’_ without ya!”

Cait smacked her again, but Allison still wasn’t getting it and she was so frustrated because how _dare_ she be afraid to be alone? When everything didn’t hinge her lover’s state of health like all of Cait’s did? When she didn’t know true loneliness?

“-Fockin’ nothin’ without ya!” she wailed, smacked Allison’s chest again to provoke a reaction and this time it worked.

This time, Allison caught her wrists, rolled her to her back and kissed her, deeply, swallowing all of Cait’s sobs, crushing her body like she was a sponge, like she could wring all of her woes and take them on as her own and Cait tried to resist, she did, but Allison prodded and poked and then Cait was throwing her arms around her neck and bruising their lips together and wrapping her legs around her waist because Allison would die if she let her go.

And if Allison died, she’d be alone with her chems, so she raked her fingers through her hair, locked her ankles behind Allison’s back and squeezed her. Squeezed all of the love from Allison, and Allison squeezed all the love from Cait.

Squeezed until the whole room was submerged.

Squeezed until they were exhausted, still clamped around each other but with tender firmness, soft lips moving against soft lips.

“I love you,” from Allison when they separated.

The words on her tongue, but rather than speak them, she let Allison taste them and she hummed because they were so sweet and flavorful.

“… make love…” Allison murmured into her mouth, and Cait would’ve teased about how old-fashioned that sounded but she also wanted to make love. Lots of it, so she nodded.

But then Allison was descending and Cait panicked because she wasn’t close enough, pulled her lover’s confused head back to her and pleaded with her eyes. Pleaded to stay and kiss her while they made love.

So Allison stayed.

It was awkward, stripping while still clinging to each other, but they managed. Allison was naked too, because Cait wouldn’t let her start until there were two piles of clothes crumpled on the floor, until she could feel all of her skin against her.

And the feeling was amazing, addicting, Allison’s full warmth against hers, and the apartment was already hot and Allison was hot and Cait was hot and they were sweating and _this_ was heaven. Not puffy clouds, not easy food. But a hot, sweaty evening, a hot, sweaty lover, and a hot, sweaty kiss.

Fingers trailed down her neck, down to her collarbone where the pad grazed and tickled and teased while the tongue danced slowly and passionately in her mouth. Trailed up and cupped her face, trailed down to her collarbone, over her collarbone and lower.

A moan when her breast was cupped, her own fingers burrowing into her lover’s shoulder blades. When her breast was squeezed, kneaded like dough.

A loud moan now, a whimper when her nipple was pinched. When it was rolled between course digits, when her nipple wasn’t released with haste because Cait needed more stimulus, wanted more of that tickle and Allison would do this _right_. When the fingers worked her bud, when the palm kneaded and squeezed her breast just like she needed it, and Cait wasn’t sure how long her boob was in Allison’s hand, just that it was the perfect length of time.

Her heart skipped a beat when the fingers trailed again, lower. Trailed down her sternum, her stomach. over her abs. Trailed over her belly button, and Allison shifted just a bit, just enough to let her hand pass and Cait’s legs locked, hands scraped her lover’s back, lips caressing her lover’s tongue, reading the words, heart fluttering, then presenting her own tongue for Allison to decipher.

Trailed through the sensitive patch of hair, ruffled it.

Dipped into molten heat.

Cait moaned, and if anyone was at their door, they would hear what they were doing.

The fingers explored, like it was new territory but the little motions, how she dipped and prodded at all the right places betrayed how familiar they really were with the region. The fingers were soaked, doused in her arousal, and they submerged just below the surface, skimming her sensitive flesh.

Cait shuddered, bucked then still when they grazed her clitoris, swollen and ready.

Allison swirled lazy circles into her clit, swallowed her whimpers, swallowed her tongue. Cait hummed as the pressure built in her thighs, building steadily, building with every firm swirl. Noises slick from below, noises needy from above.

The fingers dipped occasionally, lubricating, teasing her entrance, running through her folds. But they always returned to her clit, swirling firmly and building more of that pressure in her thighs. The lips pressed to hers, tongues idling in their mouths in concentration. Concentration on swirling her clit, concentration on the pleasure swelling in her thighs. Arms wrapped around necks.

Cait whimpered, shuddered. Came onto the sheets, whimpered into Allison’s mouth, relished the ecstasy surging from her clit still being swirled, all the way to her fingers in Allison’s hair.

Quivered when Allison kept kissing her and loving her and now her whole body was buzzing.

Then they were kissing, waiting for Cait’s privates to recover, and when they did, when Cait was ready again, Alison recognized her plea for more on her tongue.

The fingers trailed lower, trailed until two were poised at her entrance.

They slipped inside, and Cait squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed as they pushed deep into her, until they couldn’t dive any further.

Then they pulled away, then thrust, palm massaging her clit, the first licks of friction swelling her thighs with pleasure. They thrust again, and again, and Cait moan again and again, heart thumping, exciting by the second but Allison was calm.

Calm like the pace that prioritized accuracy and all her sensitive spots over blinding speed. The rhythm was gentle, enjoyable, dragging on and on in just the right way. She rolled into the comfortably oppressively body above her, rolled with every stroke that stretched her and rubbed.

And only after an eternity of begging did those fingers seek out the most sensitive area, did Allison’s mouth push Cait further into the mattress while she focused on the pace, on gliding over her forward walls with every thrust, on pumping into her and simultaneously applying pressure to her clit.

While Cait moaned, focused on the swelling pressure as the fingers dove deep into her tight heat, stretched her as wide as the fingers could, and curled against her forward walls and grew the mounting pleasure. Dove deep, stretched, then curled. Dove deep, stretched, then curled.

An explosion of warmth, of pressure that concentrated around her thighs as she came. Warmth in her tummy, her lungs, heart, her arms and legs, her lips still claimed. She clenched, spilled liquid heat, shuddered, waited for the fingers to stop.

And then there was a third finger pushing in, and she was too breathless to scream, too full to think coherently and they thrust and stretched and dove and Cait was pretty certain her third orgasm exploded before her second was completely done because she was so warm, so doused in pure bliss.

And after an eternity of soaring through the clouds, after Allison finally stopped and she regained the ability to breathe, after her thighs stopped shuddering- no, they never stopped, still spasmed every now and then- after all of that, she hugged her.

Hugged Allison close, buried her flushed face into her neck because what she wanted to say didn’t do justice. Not even her tongue could convey her gratitude, so she held her, hoped her tears told her enough about her emotions, and Allison cradled her.

Then there was only measured breathing and the hum of the heating unit.

Allison shifted, and Cait stirred, fought exhaustion, afraid to fall asleep and accidentally fulfill her earlier threat. She summoned her strength, bribed herself with the image of Allison cumming, thought of the sounds she would make.

Cait moved and Allison looked at her, realized what Ciat wanted, realized that resistance was futile because Cait wouldn’t sleep willingly until she got what she wanted.

They rolled leisurely, away from the damp, sticky spot to make another. It was easier to stay awake when she was on top, when she could lean forward on the support of her arms and look down. When Allison palmed up her thighs, her abs, stopped when she had a breast in each hand.

Cait stared from above; Allison never blinked, lips parted, ogling her, craving for her, and if Allison gaped at her like that, then Cait had more energy in one pinky than all the fusion cores in the wasteland.

Allison squeezed her breasts and Cait made no effort to hide her pleasure: a quiet moan, eyes closed, head lolled to one side.

She rocked once, gently, smearing heat up her lover’s stomach. It felt good, so she did it again, moaned again, threw her head back. She did it one more time.

Allison was panting, visibly aching, and she descended. Kissed her, licked her tongue, remembered that her turn had passed two turns ago, and she parted.

Cait slid off, lay on her side supported by her elbow, front flush with Allison’s right flank. The hand of her supporting arm snaking behind Allison’s neck, fingers reaching up, wrapping around her cheek, and teasing the corner of her lip. Her legs wrapped around Allison’s right thigh kept her stationary, kept her on her back.

She was on display for Cait, all of her defined muscle and her full, round tits and her glistening inner thigh. On display and free to touch, so she did.

Her hand draped over her lover’s body, palmed down her chest, over her abs.

Back up, up to her breasts and Allison turned her head to Cait’s fingers when her nipple was rolled, turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Cait watched her, smiled, smiled wider when Allison’s tongue slithered over her fingers and sucked them into her mouth.

Cait could tell how much Allison liked it by the way she swirled her tongue around her finger. The rougher and more erotic the stroke up and down the skin of her finger, the more she pushed up into Cait’s grasp.

But she was so visibly soaked, Cait didn’t linger long.

Traveled lower, fingertips swiping through her own fluids on her lover’s stomach. Used the heat like paint, coated her abs and all the nooks and crannies. Traced an “I”, a heart, and a “U”, but Allison wasn’t lucid enough to recognize.

Traveled lower, over her hair.

Cait watched her shoulders tense, felt a hot breath on her slobbery fingers, heard a gasp when she traced down her hood. Down over her clit, into her folds, drenching in molten liquid. Up, up to her clit, positioned.

Another gasp, fingers of her free hand balling the sheets when Cait rubbed. Down and up, side to side, around and around and around and Allison was bucking, bucking every time her finger moved. Suckling the digits in her mouth, and she was beautiful.

Cait studied the bob of her breast with every stroke, the hard nipple atop a bouncing globe of flesh. Studied her rippling abs as she bucked. Studied her scrunched eyelids, her flaring nostrils.

She slowed, and Allison slowed. But then her mouth was a wide “O” when Cait traveled lower, honed in on her center, and penetrated noisily.

The thrusts were easy, gradual motions of her wrist, curling up and in with two digits. But the reaction was hot, gasping and labored breathing, grip nearly tearing the sheets, sweat sheening over her abs that undulated like the sea. Drenched like the sea, dripping down the rear of her palm. An occasional tongue lashing on her fingers when she remembered they were still in her mouth.

All was fine and rhythmic and gorgeous, hot and wet and gasping.

And then the hand clutching the sheets released, fumbled around Cait’s crotch and Cait wasn’t expecting it to feel so _good_ when they slithered and plunged into her.

She faltered, lost her breath and her rhythm and when she finally opened her eyes, Allison was there, mouth parted, watching her. Watching her as Cait curled inward at the sudden thrust and she pried open her eyes again and _damn_ Allison’s selflessness!

Another thrust into her heat still hyper-sensitive and Cait was struggling to breath and Allison was recovering and now she was trying to sit up and push Cait against the wall.

But Cait curled her fingers mercilessly and Allison collapsed, and Cait compromised. Pressed her lips into Allison’s, her tongue trying to retrieve the breath she stole, and she curled.

And Allison thrust, and so did Cait, and then they fell into a rhythm together, a tempo that they agreed with. Cait dove deep, deep into Allison’s heat, curled and swirled and did her thing and then Allison dove after her, stretched and rubbed and devoured each other’s gasps, their breaths and their hearts.

Rolling together, rolling into each other, Cait’s hips grinding into Allison’s thigh, Allison into Cait’s hand. Liquids trailing down Cait’s thigh and onto Allison’s as the pressure built and they bucked frantically, desperately.

And they came together, into each other’s hands, screaming into each other’s mouths, rolling and rocking. Allison and bliss became synonymous, couldn’t tell which was which so she embraced both. There was no such thing as magic until now, until they shared this ecstasy, until two writhing bodies became one.

The orgasm slowly vanished to their despair, but when their bleary eyes peered from their heavy eyelids, they realized that they still had each other. Allison’s strong arms wrapped around her, pulled her onto her until Cait was straddling her again, ear to her chest.

Allison’s slick flesh sliding against her was sublime, and she smiled while they breathed. While Allison breathed into fiery locks and Cait breathed onto flushed skin.

“Hey? … Cait? …” from above, and Cait leisurely propped her head onto her chin. Probably uncomfortable for Allison, but she didn’t appear to mind the chin digging into her sternum.

“Yeah, Sunshine?”

Compassionate green into compassionate, considerably sleepier green.

“If I promise not to die, will you as well?”

No thought to it. “Right as rain.”

Allison smiled, gazed at her. ‘Love you,’ she mouthed.

‘Love you, too.’

And though the lights buzzed and the heater roared and the bed was damp, when Allison pulled her up, hugged her snugly and rolled to their side, Cait fell effortlessly into a cozy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just hit me that if you're reading this, you've read through over 100k words. So if you've read this far, thank you!
> 
> Also, there's been a dry spell feedback-wise and I'd like to know what you guys think. AKA please leave a comment, and I'll see you next chapter!


	13. The Relay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been awhile. Sorry bout that.

Allison’s hair was so soft. In fact, Cait figured it was the softest hair she’d ever felt.

Though Cait was by no means a connoisseur in any respect, she’d carded through her fair share of hair in the heat of heated moments. Long hair, short hair, black hair, brown hair, blonde hair; she’d yanked and tugged them all, but none compared to the silky smoothness of Allison’s shoulder-length, red head of hair.

It was a panacea to all her moods, her troubles, and her tempers. Half an hour of petting her lover’s scalp like she were a purring cat placated her bitter choler into a serene tranquility, and if she continued past that point, one or both of them tended to pass out.

Allison still slept even as the morning’s first rays peeked through the curtains of their window. Mornings like these, where Cait awoke before Allison, were rare, and Cait cherished the chances where she watched over Allison instead of the other way around. Repaying the debt, Cait figured, but she never dared to say that out loud because that usually ended with Allison sternly reminding her that Allison expected nothing in return. One of those “I eat you out because I love you” things or some other ridiculous ideal that Cait would never admit made her heart do jumping jacks.

She mulled over that while her fingers sifted through her lover’s soft, red locks. Allison had wrapped her arms around Cait’s waist and buried her face in Cait’s bosom, and Cait, because she enjoyed the hot breath of her lover on her chest, had wrapped her own arms around Allison’s neck and pulled her in. A perfect position to stroke her hair, and stroke away she did.

Because Cait was worried, and she needed the comfort her lover’s hair brought her. Nausea had set in shortly after waking, shortly after the realization that this could be her last morning with Allison. This was the dawn of the day where Allison would finally kick down the doors of the Institute and reunite with her baby boy.

And the stupid, _stupid_ gal wanted to do it alone.

“The wiring is finicky,” she’d said, “and only one person can pass through it at a time. If I’m lucky, the Courser chip will fool whatever sensors they have installed. One person right after the other would seem suspicious.”

Cait was still mad. Furious, even, but she wouldn’t spend what could be her final moments with her lover pouting in the corner. So while she heavily disagreed with Allison’s choice, so much so it made her sick to her stomach, she’d bite her tongue and support her, because that’s what couples do. Or so she’d heard.

Allison stirred, and Cait, wishing the moment to stretch just a little longer, rubbed that one spot at the base of her skull. Allison hummed unconsciously and, overcome by sudden drowsiness, burrowed deeper into Cait’s bosom and stilled. Cait smiled, and resumed gently combing through the soft waves of silk and velvet.

Codsworth, detecting signs of conscious life, fulfilled his daily role of trying to shatter whatever morning peace they’d managed to secure. At a few decibels lower than how he usually did it, to his credit, but still just as annoying.

“Morning, mum!” he whispered, “Shall I start-?”

Cait didn’t tear her eyes away from Allison for a second. “Fock off, Codsy. We’re sleepin’ here.”

“Righto, mum! Apologies,” and he zoomed away.

“I dunno what ya see in that tin can,” Cait whispered, carefully unthreading a knot. “Sure, he makes food, but does he have ta be so damn cheery about it?”

No answer, but Cait imagined something about how he was the only decent thing in miles. Outside of Cait, of course, and Allison would show her just how much she meant to her with a searing kiss. Followed by a teasing caress, and then a nip all along her collarbone. Then she’d say something cheesy, probably something about her attractive appearance or some other wonderful thing, and then she’d devour her tits and lick all the way down to her waist and even a little below that, and then she’d take her tongue and…

Cait shifted, hot under the covers and stuck deciding whether she wanted her to stay sleeping so she could stroke her hair some more or if she preferred Allison to wake and stroke Cait for a change. A truly agonizing decision.

But she mellowed as time passed, and she was content to enjoy Allison’s hair some more, and the way her arms held her so tightly to her sleeping figure that she could feel Allison’s muscles flex slightly with every deep breath.

The worry had passed somewhat, knowing that if Allison didn’t walk out of that teleporter today, tomorrow, or ever, their last memories together would be good ones.

“Just look at ya,” she said, “Ya aren’t even awake and ya got me worryin’ sick about ya. How do ya do that?” One of life’s greatest mysteries that may never be solved.

A few minutes later, Allison mumbled something, and no amount of scratching that one spot would put her back to sleep. To Cait’s delight, Allison shifted closer instead of further, skin pressed against skin in just the right way.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Cait cooed, fingers combing her hair into a mess.

She felt the lips against her skin pull into a smile, and when Allison replied, “Morning, Butterfly,” and hummed, the words rumbled against her chest. “What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” Cait asked before she could remember that yes, it does matter.

But Allison paused a moment, pressed her lips sweetly to Cait’s chest, and said, “Guess not. Long as the sun’s still shining.”

“I love you.” It was as sudden and unexpected to Allison as it was to Cait who’d said it. She didn’t know why, didn’t where it came from, just knew she needed to say it.

But Allison took it in stride and smiled warmly up at her, rolled her on her back, and crawled up her body. Cait sighed inwardly when Allison’s weight settled upon her and pushed her into the mattress, and then sighed audibly when Allison’s lips pressed to hers. The kiss was sugar sweet, just like it tasted, and Cait seized the opportunity to run her fingers through her lover’s hair again.

Allison pulled away briefly, hovering so close above Cait’s mouth that when she spoke, her lips ghosted against hers. “I love you, too,” but when Allison was this close, all Cait could focus on were her lips.

Allison’s stomach grumbled mid kiss, and she pulled away just long enough to ask, “Did you have Codsworth start breakfast?” then dove back in.

“No,” Cait mumbled into her mouth, “I told the sorry cunt ta fock off.”

Allison pulled away again. “Codsworth!” she shouted.

A few moments while Cait impatiently sucked at her collarbone and Allison struggled to focus on listening for a reply. Seconds later, a tinny, “Yes, mum?’

“Start breakfast!”

“Yessir! Is this a steak-and-eggs kind of morning or would you prefer-?”

“Just start breakfast, dammit!” and Cait smirked triumphantly when Allison finally descended upon her like a vicious wasteland predator, going straight for the throat. But the smirk could only hold for so long, and soon she was clinging to her, eyes fluttering shut, parted lips breathing hot, heavy air into Allison’s ear.

A teasing caress to her rear, fingers trailing up her buttocks, over her waist and into her inner thigh. A maddening nip to her collarbone, hard enough to mark, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Cait moan, and, “You drive me fucking wild, you sexy little thing…” A hot mouth around her breast, suckling her tit, then on to the other one, not loitering too long because neither could wait much longer. A trail pathed lightly in saliva from the valley of her boobs, over her bellybutton, down to her waist and a little below that. Then, Allison took her tongue, and…

… Cait was gasping like she was drowning by the end, thighs locked around Allison’s head. Allison had sat up some time after the first, bringing Cait’s trembling legs up with her so she was almost perched upside down.

The tongue worked her through her fits and she squirmed, made sounds she didn’t know she could make, sounds only Allison would ever be allowed to hear. Cait waited an extraordinarily long time for the orgasm to run its full course, helped in no part by the fact that Allison was still ravenously hungry and sucked until Cait was completely empty and glowing.

Eventually, Cait realized that she wouldn’t be in her right mind anytime soon and she opened her eyes. At the same time, those singing emerald irises traveled up- or down, from Allison’s perspective- her glistening, heaving body until their gazes met. And when they did, Allison pulled away from her snatch and grinned smugly, juices dripping from her glazed lips and chin..

Cait smiled dumbly, reached out to run her fingers through Allison’s hair, but missed because the room was spinning. Allison laughed, but Cait wanted to see her try to do the same with all the blood rushing to her head.

Allison gently let her down onto the mattress and gradually laid herself down on top of her, using her breasts as pillows, and this time, Cait didn’t miss when she reached down to card her fingers through her lover’s soothing hair. The effect was instant, and soon, Cait’s pulse had settled into an easy rhythm.

Breakfast couldn’t be too far away, and she rolled her head over to look at the clock. She hardly believed she’d came twice in ten minutes, but that was what the clock read. She hoped Allison wouldn’t notice; she didn’t need her gloating about her tongue muscles for another week, even if there was some truth behind it.

Her belly rumbled, but it was Allison crooning a song into her skin and not a hunger pang. Cait closed her eyes and listened like she always did. The lyrics meandered their way to her ears, quiet, barely detectable. Something about a stable boy and his horse.

Her head propped up by a pillow, she glanced down and a question formed.

“How come ya always sleep like that?” Cait asked.

Allison shifted until she was peeking up at her. “Hmmm?”

“It never fails: ya fock me, then ya stuff your face in me tits. I know they’re marvelous,” she flashed a coy smile, “but sometimes I like a little kissin’ after sex.”

Allison quirked an eyebrow. “I kiss you after sex all the time. You even used to joke about how much I kiss you after sex. ‘Well geez, ya tryin’ ta get me all hot and bothered again?’”

Alright, she had to admit she walked into that one. “Just teasin’, darlin’.”

A disbelieving, “Uh huh,” and she kissed her chest.

Cait pushed the hair away from Allison’s eyes. “But why do ya do it?”

“You said it yourself,” Allison kissed the inside of her breast, “your tits are marvelous.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”

Allison hesitated, like she was embarrassed to say, and Cait perked up just a little. “I like listening to your heartbeat. It’s comforting, you know? Knowing that you’re safe and relaxed? It brings me peace. Helps me sleep when I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Cait didn’t have an answer for that, though she assumed her fluttering heartbeat would suffice.

The shy hesitation disappeared, and she kissed her right on the nipple and said, “And your tits really are marvelous. I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“I know.” Cait looked over at the clock and whiffed the first signs of breakfast. She glanced back. “Think we can squeeze in a shower?”

Allison reached up and pecked her on the lips and retreated, but Cait chased after her and deepened the kiss, her hand snaking around to cup the nape of her neck. A brief intermission, eyes closed, forehead to forehead.

“Absolutely,” Allison rumbled, and they both shivered.

 

**ooooo**

 

Breakfast was filling, with Cait scarfing her food in the blink of an eye and finishing before Allison had finished her steak. Dogmeat had them all beat, though; he was already at Cait’s side, begging with his eyes glassy and large as marbles and licking his chops.

“I swear ta Christ, Dogmeat, ya keep that up and I’ll punt your shaggy arse from her ta Diamond City.” She snorted, then turned to Allison who was perusing something on the table. “Why always me?” Cait asked.

Allison glanced at Cait in a way that suggested she hadn’t heard.

Cait jerked her head towards Dogmeat, who scratched his ear with his paw. “He’s always beggin’ at me feet, never yours.”

Allison glanced over at the same time Dogmeat swiveled his head around. She flashed him a look, steely eyes and a not-quite-frown, and he whined, turned tail, and stalked away. Cait caught a glimpse of a half-smile on her face as he padded for a cool spot on the floor.

“Hmph.” Cait shook her head and downed the rest of the water in the glass. Allison was already concentrating on the papers again, holding a sheet up to the light so she could see it easier. Cait leaned in. “Watcha lookin’ at?”

Without averting her gaze, Allison answered distractedly. “Instructions and blueprints for the relay. Making sure I understand this as best I can so I don’t zap myself into solid earth.”

Cait’s mouth dried. “The relay can do that?”

“Mm hmm,” Allison said, as nonchalant as if they were considering tea or coffee instead of whether or not a teleporter based on incomprehensible science could literally put her six feet under.

Cait tried not to sound too worried. “And how likely is this?”

“Well…” Allison frowned in speculative rumination. “The relay breaks down an object- or person- on a molecular level and reassembles it at a given point.” Allison squinted. “I think.”

“‘You think?’” Cait asked, incredulous and growing more nauseous by the passing minute.

Allison shrugged. “Virgil’s handwriting is worse than a kindergartener’s.”

Cait frowned “A what?”

“A… small child.” Cait nodded understanding- must’ve been a Pre-War term- and Allison continued. “For the relay to work, I need to provide a location in ‘X’, ‘Y’, and ‘Z’ coordinates.”

“And how do we know the coordinates?”

“We don’t,” Allison said, and Cait frowned again, rapping her fingers on the tabletop. Allison unplugged something from her Pipboy and held it up so Cait could see: the Courser chip. “But this does.”

Cait nodded absently. “So that’s what the chip’s for.”

“Now, as for your question of safety…” Cait attempted to appear calm and only vaguely interested, but she was on the edge of her seat, “… I don’t know.”

Cait sharply huffed air through her nostrils, her fingers rapping a little faster on the tabletop. “Not even an educated guess?”

Allison fondled the chip. “There’s a number of things that can go wrong with the relay itself.”

“Like…?”

Allison gazed out the window at the relay uphill. “Maybe we don’t have enough juice so it cuts off halfway and only part of me gets there.”

Cait’s lip twitched.

“Maybe the chip is faulty, or maybe the Institute knows the Courser assigned to this chip is dead and they deny me access. Then I’m just a bunch of molecules with nowhere to go. Vaporized, I suppose you could say.”

Cait winced.

“Or maybe everything malfunctions and we effectively explode with the force of a nuclear bomb.”

Cait’s stomach churned.

Allison just stared out the window. “Whatever problem occurs, it’s sure to be fatal, if not cataclysmic.”

Allison only turned her attention back to Cait when she sighed uneasily, rubbing her face with her palms. “And you wanna walk through the deathtrap?”

She shrugged, defeated. “Cait, we’re talking about disassembling and reassembling matter. Now I’m just a dumb grunt following the instructions of someone much smarter than me, but fucking with the laws of physics doesn’t seem to be the safest course of action.”

“Then choose another course of action!” Cait snapped.

“It’s our _only_ course of action, Cait.”

“Well…” Cait scrabbled helplessly for ideas, worrying her bottom lip. She reached over and took Allison’s hand in both of hers, looked her in the eyes, and even though it wouldn’t work, she still said, “You’re no good ta anyone dead. Maybe…” Cait struggled, squeezing her fingers, “Maybe…”

The ice in her glare and the hostility in her voice could’ve convinced Cait that the last few months were all a dream. “Are you suggesting I give up?”

Cait opened her mouth to speak, or maybe apologize, but the edge in Allison’s stare seared through any defense she had and she meekly pursed her lips.

“You want me to just leave him there? All this effort, all the blood and the tears and you want me to just drop it all and _give up?_ ” She stood, clamped her hand painfully around Cait’s wrist and practically pulled her across the table.

Hissing like a snake about to strike, because she had enough venom in her eyes alone if she wanted to kill, “How would you like it if you were dropped in the middle of some Godforsaken desert and left to die? You’d probably want me to come get you, wouldn’t you? You’d be all alone. At the mercy of your surroundings. Not a damn thing you could do. Not a goddamn thing.”

Cait tried to pull away and yelped when the fingers around her wrist clamped tighter and pulled her in closer; Cait could see her fangs unsheathing.

“That’s where Shaun is. In a Godforsaken desert and I’m the only one that can go and get him back.” Allison pointed past Cait’s peripheral, but she didn’t dare look away; predators always struck when their prey’s back was turned. “And that will take me to him. I am going to walk through that relay whether you like it or not.”

Cait recoiled when she was finally released, cradling her throbbing wrist in her hand.

Allison jerked her head to the side. “There’s the door. If you don’t like it, you can fuck off.”

But Cait didn’t move. She stood where she was, cradling her wrist, shoulders drawn in defensively. Staring at Allison like she might hit her. Allison scoffed, looked sideways at the floor. They stayed there for an eternity, Allison avoiding eye contact, Cait cautiously huddling into herself. Dogmeat in the background unsure of who to support, whimpering and clawing at the tile.

Allison sniffed. Cait looked up at her face, but she only turned farther away, hiding behind her hair. She sniffled again, and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

When her head swiveled around, her eyes were red, puffy, and full of shame. She didn’t look Cait directly in the eye right away, and instead stared glumly at Cait’s wrist.

She stepped forward, hand extended.

Cait flinched.

Allison hesitated. But then she made her away around the table at a cautious pace, reaching out for her. Cait didn’t move, but she didn’t resist when Allison stepped within kissing distance and took her abused wrist into her hand. Thumb softly brushing at the mild welts, the white silhouette of a handprint on a canvas of flushed red. Caressing her arm with so much care and remorse, almost afraid to touch her.

A single hot tear dripped right into the red space between white finger marks, and Allison immediately wiped her face again.

“I’m sorry,” she choked, chest heaving, barely controlling herself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- I didn’t-.”

She swallowed loudly, sniffled, then rested her forehead on Cait’s clavicle. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

The words were sincere, and Cait hadn’t a reason until just then to distrust her words. Allison didn’t ever lie to her, not even when the truth hurt more than the lie. She figured this was just one of those times.

Cait stepped closer, pulling out of her lover’s grasp so she could snake her arms around and pull her body in. Her body pocked by scars and lacerations and built purely for efficiency, and Cait had to remember that her own soul wasn’t the only soul bruised between the two of them. She had to remember that. She had to accept that.

Allison shuddered into her shoulder, wetness staining her shirt and Cait’s breath hitched when fingers slipped under her shirt and traveled up her bare back. Cait nuzzled further into her neck, inhaling the scent of her lover’s body wash, her fingers crawling along the tense muscles of the base of her neck and kneading away.

“I’m sorry,” Allison said, gulping in air through fits of sobbing.

Cait recalled something from just that morning, and she reached around and tugged lightly at Allison’s arm. She cooperated immediately, letting Cait guide her down, around her hip, and up her stomach until her chest, where she halted. She pressed insistently, and when she was sure Allison wouldn’t move away, she returned her soothing fingers to the base of her neck and pressed them together as snugly as she could.

Hopefully now, she could feel her heartbeat a little better.

The transition from sobbing to silently mournful was slow but steady, and Cait came to hope that Allison’s weathered hand would stay there over her heart where it belonged.

“I’m scared,” Allison said, low and muffled by Cait’s shoulder, but she could still hear it just fine. “If he’s not there… If he’s dead.”

“Shhhhhh,” Cait said, and all those months couldn’t have been a dream if Cait really was consoling someone she loved so fiercely. She still didn’t believe any of it. “He’ll be there, darlin’. He’ll be there.”

“But what if he’s not?”

“He’ll be there,” and that was the end of that. They found a quiet comfort in the warmth of their companion, and neither seemed eager to part.

“I’d come for you, you know,” Allison said, lips pressed into the crevice of Cait’s neck. “If you were in some Godforsaken desert. I’d come for you and I’d pick you up in my arms and then I’d take us home.”

Cait smiled, trailed a lazy finger up and down her spine. “And I’d come for you, too.”

“You couldn’t carry me. I’m too big for you.”

“Then I’d drag ya all the way home.”

“But then I’d get a nasty case of road rash. In a desert, no less.”

Cait snorted. “Pussy.”

Allison chuckled. They lifted their head’s, but they didn’t release each other. They stared, then they kissed, then they kissed deeper, Allison’s hand reaching up from Cait’s chest to travel around the rear of her neck and pull her in closer. Eyes closed, tongues slithered, and they swallowed their hums and sighs.

The first words out of Cait’s mouth the moment she had the chance to speak was a blurted, “I love you.” Like that morning, it was sudden and impulsive.

And like that morning, Allison smiled and said, “I love you, too.”

Then her expression sobered, and her hand dropped from Cait’s shirt and reached back, laying over Cait’s wrist. “I won’t ever hurt you again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said impatiently, missing the contact missing from her heart.

“Never again. It was stupid, and impulsive, and I could stand here and beat myself up over it or I can promise you that I’ll never hurt you again. Not purposefully.”

The corners of Cait’s lips perked in a mischievous grin. “Not even if I tell ya to?”

Allison rolled her eyes, then focused on Cait. “Alright. One exception.”

Cait knew what was coming when the hand moved lower, but she still jumped when Allison spanked her, still grinned and purred and pinched her bottom lip lecherously. Still felt breathless when she was roped back in and their lips and tongues were one again. Still was taken aback by just how _good_ she tasted.

 

**ooooo**

 

This was it. This was goodbye. Allison would step onto that plate, Codsworth would press the button, and Cait would never see her again.

That track of thinking was poisonous and grave, the type that would push her back into the clutches of Psycho, but she didn’t know anything else. Allison was showing her something else, the first few golden tendrils of something that could’ve been beautiful, but the picture was incomplete. And Allison was leaving, anyway.

The relay itself was a gargantuan hunk of twisted steel and tangled wires, fueled by several improvised nuclear reactors, controlled by a row of terminals whose buttons and scroll wheels seemed fit to pop out of their sockets with no less than a whispered breath. Not comforting in the slightest.

But Allison wouldn’t be deterred. She was going through that relay whatever the consequences, and Cait wouldn’t stop her. Not that she could stop her if she wanted to, but that just made it all hurt more.

“Codsworth, how’s it look?” Allison called out, fiddling with the casing of one of the reactors.

All three of his optics eyed different parts of the panel, flipping switches and tapping dials until they read the correct measurement. “Buzzers are buzzing and lights are lighting up, so I’d say were good to go, mum!”

She closed the hatch and threw the switch and a moment later, the entire machine buzzed to life.

Allison stepped back, and appreciated her work. It looked too much for only two people to build, too complex to have been cobbled together with scrap metal and tech salvaged from hospitals and military outposts. Had the danger been absent, Cait would’ve been proud of her “dumb grunt.”

Cait watched her while she once-overed the contraption, eyes excited but hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. Cait imagined she looked much the same, and when Allison glanced over, she shuffled to her side.

Cait ogled the contraption, or faked it, mostly focusing on the woman beside her.

“So,” Cait said.

“Hmm?”

“This is it?”

Allison nodded. “This is it.”

The day was normal, no swirling overcast of clouds, no rolling radstorms signaling the end of times. Just a too-hot sun in a cloudless sky, baking the wasteland until the dirt was as bleak as the chances of survival. Dogmeat lounged in the shade, chewing his paw and blissfully ignorant of the dire situation. A warm breeze bustled past her face, sand tickling her skin, and nudged her fingers apart.

No, that was Allison’s fingers intertwining with hers. Loosely, almost cautiously, but Cait had no patience for caution and she took her hand firmly. Her lover’s hands were rugged and blistered, indicative of all the labor she’d slogged through, all the weapons she’d handled, the magazines she’d exchanged. Something else to love her for, Cait decided.

“Ya checked your gear?” Cait asked, gaze climbing up the shuddering pipes.

“The vest is solid, as are the legs,” she responded, her combat vest snug and her thigh and shin guards polished and flexible.

“Positive?”

“I just checked it this morning.”

“What about your guns?”  Cait asked.

“I cleaned them and test fired them last night.”

“So the firin’ pin is in ‘em?” Cait asked, not at all joking. “Ya didn’t forget ‘em this time?”

She chuckled. “Nope. Not this time.”

“Check ‘em, anyway,” Cait said.

A sigh, then a cacophony as she inspected her arsenal with one hand, because Cait wasn’t ready to let go.

“Firing pins and bullets; I’ve got them both,” she said.

“Ya sure ya have everythin’?”

“You’re just stalling now.”

Cait bristled. “Yeah? And what am I supposed ta do, sit on me hands and watch ya disappear?”

“Hey,” Allison said, and Cait looked over at her. “I’ll be alright.”

She felt entirely unconvinced, and she must’ve looked it too, because Allison turned and drew her in. Cait nearly tackled her, hugging her in a vice grip, annoyed that her vest kept her from feeling the warmth of her lover’s bosom. Buried in her neck, she tried to forget her woes, tried to remember who she was, how she smelled, how she felt, how she tasted just in case. She was murmuring something in her ear, but she didn’t care; she needed another minute.

And another minute after that. Like Allison was a drug; just one more dose, and she’d be fine. But one turned into two, and two turned into three.

“Cait?” Allison asked quietly. “Butterfly?”

She lifted her head and looked her in the eyes. Her stark, green eyes that could be kind and fresh and warm like the greenest grass, or cold and smooth and unbreakable like flawless emeralds. They were sad now, cloudy and frightened, like nothing she’d ever seen.

Dammit, they really should’ve done that sexy photoshoot like they’d teased about; she would’ve at least had a picture to remember her by.

“You’re comin’ back, alright?” Cait cupped Allison’s cheek with one hand and grasped desperately at the back of her neck with her other.

“I’m coming back, babe,” Allison nodded her head.

“Wasn’t a fockin’ question.” She pulled her closer until their foreheads bumped and looked, stared into her frightened emerald eyes. “You’re comin’ back ta me. I don’t care if you’re vaporized, or if- if there’s only half of ya, or if you’re shot full of holes- You’re comin’ back. You’re comin’ back-.”

She sniffled.

“’Cause if ya don’t, I’m gonna give ya so much shit for it.”

Allison laughed. Anxiously through a tight throat, but it was still a laugh.

They kissed, mashing lips against lips, tongue against tongue, hands on the napes of their necks, fingers rifling through soft, soft locks. She returned to the crook of Allison’s neck when they parted to breathe.

“Sing for me?” Cait mumbled. “The one about the sunshine?”

Syrup on pancakes or a fresh Fancy Lad snack cake; neither could compete with how sweet the lyrics sang. In tune with her heartbeat, slow as molasses but somehow still too fast, and the first and second stanza flowed by before Cait could realize she was already halfway done.

“ _… Please don’t take my, Sunshine away._ ”

Allison stepped away, but Cait followed her, not quite ready. “Come back ta me,” she said, quieter and less demanding.

“I will,” she promised.

“You can- you can have me,” Cait breathed, “Anywhere, any time. Anything ya want, you can do.” It was mindless, and immature, and downright silly to think that she could seduce her into coming back. Reducing her desirable traits to just her body? Allison would be furious.

But if there was the slightest possibility, the most infinitesimal of chances that she could bribe Allison, who’d barged into her life behind a wall of bullets, who’d taken her on the scenic tour of the Commonwealth she never thought she’d get to have, who’d crawled under her skin and into her heart and refused to leave. If there was a chance that the promise of her marvelous tits would bring her back from the brink, then she’d take it without a moment’s notice.

“Okay,” Allison nodded, and they broke away. She reached out and tucked a few strands of hair behind Cait’s ear, then cupped her cheek and ogled her face. “I’m going to keep you to that when I get back.”

Then she pivoted and stepped away. A stab of panic lanced through Cait’s chest, but she kept her nerves in check.

Dogmeat trotted from his place in the shade, aware that something big was happening, and whined until he caught Allison’s attention. She looked down at him, a smile creeping across her face, and she knelt.

With two handfuls of his scruffy fur, she blew playfully on his nose and he scrunched, then sneezed.

“Take care of Cait while I’m gone,” she muttered. “And stay away from the hubflower patches. You know you’re allergic.”

He growled as she scratched the top of his head, and as she pulled away, he slobbered all over her fingers.

“How’re the numbers, Codsworth?” she asked as she placed one uncertain foot on the center sheet, wiping her hand on her shirt.

“Acceptable. Ready when you are, mum.”

She breathed a leisurely tempo, looked to the sky, and said, “I’m coming, baby.”

Codsworth hovered to and fro, adjusting knobs and pushing buttons all across the console. “Initiating countdown!” he said, and Dogmeat whined.

“Five!”

The crescendo of the generator’s thrum paralleled Cait’s pulse. Dogmeat cowered away, and Codsworth pressed more buttons.

“Four!”

The frame rumbled, and the vibrating ground tickled Cait’s toes. The satellite swiveled, then locked in position.

“Three!”

A ring of neon blue spawned in the accelerator suspended above, humming like a charging rail gun until it settled at an intense constant.

“Two!”

The two poles on the platform Allison stood on ignited the same neon blue, arcs of lightning licking the ground and the metal supports.

“One!”

It was just as sudden, but not as surprising this time. “I love you!” Cait shouted above the noise.

Allison glanced toward her. “I love you, too, Butterfly.”

And in an instant, a blinding beam of pure cerulean consumed her, vanishing her from sight. A boom immediately after, so loud that it nearly knocked Cait off her feet. When the rattling windows died down and Cait looked back to the platform, Allison was nowhere to be found.

 

**ooooo**

 

One week later, and Allison had yet to return. She’d been gone longer, but she’d never disappeared in an explosion of blue and whisked away to the headquarters of the Commonwealth’s Boogeyman.

To cope with stress, Cait fiddled with the stockpile of guns in their basement. She’d disassembled and cleaned all of them at least once and when that was done, she’d snagged a couple pieces no one would miss just to tinker. Cait wasn’t a tinkerer, or particularly good with her hands outside of fighting or fucking, but she could handle the basics. She’d swapped a few stocks, exchanged some triggers, and replaced a barrel or two before that too grew tiresome.

Allison’s absence revealed just how much Cait relied on her for entertainment. Sure, there were holotapes to watch, books to read, and video games to play, but there was none of the joy of sharing any of those experiences. Watching “The Terror from the Deep” wasn’t the same without Allison’s critical interjections, and there was no one to brag to about a new high score in The Red Menace. And while books weren’t her thing, they definitely weren’t her thing when there was no one to cuddle with.

She glanced out the window at the relay, hoping to glimpse Allison tromping triumphantly down the hill, but saw no one. The relay was lifeless and empty.

Cait sighed, and then she set to work on polishing the chamber of her shotgun for the second time.

 

**ooooo**

 

Two weeks later, and Cait was trying to decipher the blueprints on the kitchen table. It was all in vain; the handwriting was illegible, and even if it wasn’t, the equations may as well have been written in an alien language. Codsworth explained to the best of his abilities, but his programming and memory only encompassed so much physics to make room for more important duties, like the calculus for determining exactly how long a grass lawn would take to regrow to its height.

The fact that a robot couldn’t figure it out didn’t soothe her anxiety.

Dogmeat was worried too. He paced relentlessly around the house, and whenever Codsworth released him to the outdoors, he scoured the neighborhood for any signs of his master’s location.

Cait downed what was left of her beer and wished the mongrel luck.

 

**ooooo**

 

One month and not a peep.

Cait was scared now, terrified even. Reoccurring nightmares plagued her, about stumbling upon Allison’s corpse one day as she waltzed to Diamond City. About Allison trapped miles underground, screaming for help but no one could hear her. About waking up and living a life alone, because she never came back, and that scared the shit out of her every time she had it.

Dogmeat was gone. Missing for two days now, presumably out searching. Cait should’ve gone with him.

Would’ve gone with him if the furry bastard had just said so, because now she was alone with Codsworth and he refused to worry.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Miss Cait,” Codsworth said while Cait stared out the window some rainy day. “She’s done this before, and she always returns.”

“What’s the longest she’s ever been gone?” she asked.

“Two-hundred-and-ten years, five months, and four days.”

Cait sighed.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait had seen her.

Maybe she was crazy, maybe loss was inducing delirium, but she _swore_ she saw her.

It was at Diamond City. Cait’s worry had overwhelmed her, and, intent on escaping this trap of a house, she’d written a note and set off to clear her mind. She didn’t have a clue as to where she’d go, didn’t know where she’d go that wouldn’t remind her of her lover, but she knew she had to escape. Just for a few days, then she’d return.

Diamond City seemed as decent a place as any, and she could contact Valentine if she was so desperate for any information on her lover’s whereabouts. Which she was, and she did, winding through the dreary allies, past bums and undesirables that occasionally made passes at her but she didn’t pay them attention.

Valentine hadn’t seen or heard a single trace of her lover. As she turned to leave, Valentine spoke up.

“Last I heard, she was making to find the Institute.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette into a tray, the orange tip bobbing in the dim and dark of his office. Then he spoke like the words were sour, like he knew Cait wouldn’t like it, “Listen, kid, I don’t know how to say this-.”

“Then don’t,” she snapped, and left without another word, leaving him with his feet propped up on his desk and a wisp of smoke from his cigarette still crawling to the currogated ceiling.

She’d just slipped from an alleyway into the main hub to grab a bowl of noodles when she saw her. Or rather, when she glimpsed a red head of hair, sheening even though there wasn’t ample light for it to sheen.

Cait did a double-take, heart pounding, and she squinted her eyes through the steam and the people. A woman of tall profile with red hair, and she was with someone. Black, tall, but not as tall as her. Wearing a leather coat as dark as midnight that swayed all the way to his feet. Both looking the other way.

They turned the corner before she could regain her bearings. But then she was off, shoving passersby aside, pulse a machine gun burst tearing its way through her lungs. So many questions zoomed through her mind: why was Alli here, in Diamond City? Who was the man she was with? Was that even Alli or was there another redhead traipsing around the Commonwealth that looked just like her, moved just like her?

She stumbled when she ran into something approximately knee-height and nearly landed face first in a puddle. She threw a glance backwards at the object, and-.

“Dogmeat?!” she said, grinding to a halt. “The hell ya been?”

She knelt, and he trotted over to her. He licked her hand, stared up at her, and if dogs could be distressed, he looked distressed. He barked and pushed past her, nose to the dirt, tail wagging low.

“What’re ya-?”

And she realized; he was tracking her down, sniffing for a trail. And if he’d made it this far, if he was here in Diamond City, if he was heading in that direction-.

Then it had to be Allison she saw!

She stood, “Come on, ya mangy mutt, this way!” and they took off. Past Takahashi and his noodles that distracted her senses, past the old man strumming at his guitar. Past a group of patched-up suits sitting around a table and dealing jacks, kings, and aces, but Cait was only worried about the queen. Around the corner, and then stopping because she was nowhere in sight.

Dogmeat bowed his head, sniffed around, then trotted somewhere to the left.

“Alli?” Cait called, swiveling the heads of a few loiterers. “Alli?!”

Then Dogmeat’s pace slowed, “What’s the matter? Go on, find her!” and he huffed in disagreement.

Then, to Cait’s horror, he stopped altogether, scent muddled by a puddle so wide it might’ve been a lake. He whined, pawed at the ground, and sniffed like his furry behind depended on it, with Cait chewing her lip just aside of him. He even went so far as to dip his nose into the murky water and sniff, but he recoiled and sneezed as a result.

He perked his head up. He looked left, and Cait looked left.

Then he scanned the horizon from far left to far right, the rusting shacks cowering beneath the gloomy sky, the city-goers wrapped in tarp and shivering, the narrow, crooked alleyways that seemed to wind for miles…

And then he stopped, hung his head low, and whined. When his tail tucked between his legs and ceased to move, she knew she was gone.

“No,” and she dropped to her knees, “No, no, there’s gotta be… There’s gotta be somethin’ here…”

She shoved her hands in the puddle and sloshed around, looked for anything that could help. Wouldn’t stop even when Dogmeat tugged at her shirt, because it’d been two months, two _goddamn_ _months_ and if there was the slightest chance that rooting around in this puddle would bring the sunshine back into her life, she’d take it.

But she found no sunshine in the puddle. Just filth and grime and her tears as they rolled off the tip of her nose.

She plopped her ass into the mud, and when Dogmeat trotted up beside her, she reached out and grabbed him despite him smelling like irradiated water. Because maybe running her fingers through his fur would remind her of the softness of her hair. Because maybe she could catch a fleeting whiff of her scent on his hair. Because she felt eighteen again, watching through the bars of the slaver’s cage as the only people she loved abandoned her.

It was all so unfair.

 

**ooooo**

She stopped by the diner on her way back. The one where she’d finally put that manipulative fucker, Wolfgang, in a shallow grave.

Cait spied something on the approach, something white, something she’d seen on the hill behind Allison’s house. A cross. A grave marker, she realized as she neared, Dogmeat tagging along because he had nowhere to go and she was lonely.

It stood a little ways from the diner, all on its lonesome amidst a pack of dust devils, which she shooed away as she plodded forward. The sun beat down, but the paint hadn’t begun to chip from the sand and the dust, so that meant it was recent. Not too recent, because the white was already fading, but recent enough.

There was no name, either. Cait figured no one gave enough of a damn about Wolfgang to bury his body except for that bitch that followed him around, but she was dead too, and there weren’t two crosses on the side of the road.

As they closed in, Cait only saw one body through the windows.

A bell chimed when the door opened, the heat receding once Cait stepped into the shade. Her eyes swept the interior; the glass and the blood had been cleaned, and the windows were patched. Trudy stood behind the counter, her back to Cait and Dogmeat while she mercilessly sawed slices from a block of meat. Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

Cait stepped up to the counter, unsure of what to say. Why did she even stop here?

Whatever the case, Trudy hadn’t paid them any attention. Just sawing at the meat on the cutting board. Dogmeat sniffed around, maybe picking up old traces of Allison.

“You need somethin’?” Trudy asked, voice hoarser and gruffer than Cait remembered.

Cait crossed her arms, leaning on the countertop with her elbows. “I dunno.”

Trudy sawed through a particularly tough bit of fat. “Then why ya here?”

Cait didn’t answer, perusing the stash of goods in the cubbyholes of the counter. She scanned the horizon, seeing nothing else that resembled a building. A few hills that blocked her line of sight, but nothing big enough to hide a house for Trudy to retire to.

“Where’s Patrick? I thought he helped ya run this place.”

Trudy paused, took in a breath that wasn’t so steady, and then sawed another slice off the block.

“You blind?” she asked harshly, but she sounded so exhausted that the edge was as dull as the knife she was using.

“Huh?”

Trudy raised her head and glanced out the window up the road for a second, all without ceasing her work. “Who do ya think that is out there?”

The cross. Cait shut her mouth for fear of saying something else insensitive, a trait she’d picked up from Allison. She watched the grey hair at the back of Trudy’s head bob as she piled the sliced meat off to the side, pulled another slab from a bucket on the countertop to her left, and set to work on that one.

Then Cait did something else so Allison that it hurt to think about: “Sorry.”

Trudy chuckled bitterly through her nose, shaking her head. Her words were short and high strung, like she had difficulty getting them out. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry about.” She sniffled wetly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her checkered button-up. “Dumbass couldn’t lay off the Jet, even after that business with Wolfgang.”

She spoke softer, like she was talking to herself, “I told him this would happen. Maybe if…”

She shook her head, and tried to laugh it off but it came out sounding strained and insincere. “So what about you, Missy?”

“What about me?” Cait asked, frowning.

“Where’s your partner?” Cait stiffened and bit her tongue, and Trudy understood this to be confusion. “You know, the big burly chick with her face all covered? The one you were oglin’ every chance you got? Where’s she? Last I saw her, she was walkin’ through hell just to drag your bleedin’ corpse back into my diner.”

“I don’t know,” she rasped.

“You don’t know?” she scoffed mockingly. “Girl’s like seven feet tall! How the hell do ya lose someone like that?”

“How the hell did _you_ lose Patrick?”

Trudy slammed the counter and whipped around, pointing the greasy knife in Cait’s face. “Now you listen here…”

But Cait was quick, and she’d shoved the double-barrel of her sawed-off in Trudy’s face before the old woman knew what was happening. “No, _you_ listen up.”

Cait was taken aback by just how tired Trudy looked. Her eyes tried to menace Cait, but the bags beneath them hollowed her threat, hollowed Trudy’s person herself until she was just a shell. A shell that was usually filled every morning by someone she loved, but now that someone wasn’t around anymore to give her substance.

So she had to hide away behind the façade of a working woman, and bury her grief under a dusty mountain of hard labor and sweat.

Trudy saw something in Cait’s eyes too, something that mellowed her hostility. Cait didn’t know what she saw exactly, but she couldn’t imagine it was much different than what Cait saw in Trudy.

Trudy also saw Dogmeat at the corner of her vision, fangs bared and growling and waiting for her to make a move.

“Alright,” Trudy said, sighed more like, and dropped her arm. “I know when I’m outmatched.”

Maybe it was in a gesture of trust, or maybe she just didn’t care anymore, but Trudy turned back around and resumed sawing away at the block of meat on the cutting board.

Cait was slower to holster her shotgun, as was Dogmeat to hide away his fangs, but they both did eventually. She pushed away from the counter and regarded Trudy with suspicion, but she looked like she’d already forgotten about them both already. She turned to leave.

As she opened the door and winced from the blast of heat, Trudy called out, “Hey!”

Cait paused and looked at her. Trudy still didn’t face them but her head was turned, her face hidden behind a few strands of stringy, grey hair.

“You ever find her…” Trudy paused, looking for words, “You hold her tight. They tend ta run off when y’aren’t lookin’.”

Cait left without a word.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait knew something was amiss when the front door was unlocked. She could glimpse Codsworth zipping here and there, so she wasn’t all that worried, but nevertheless, she entered with her shotgun in hand.

Codsworth was preoccupied with the fridge, and she scanned the room. Nothing was out of place, no bloodstains or bullet casings, so she stepped farther in.

Dogmeat halted, ears perked, tail wagging, and he rushed around the corner. Cait followed him, completely forgetting to close the door, and walked all the way down the hallway, stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, and her fingers weakened and she dropped the shotgun on the floor.

“Alli?”

Her voice was squeaky and uneven, but she didn’t care because Allison was sitting on their bed.

Staring straight ahead at the wall, completely ignoring an excited and confused Dogmeat who frantically licked her fingers. Completely ignoring Cait. Like a statue, shell-shocked.

“Alli?”

Allison looked down, and Cait noticed for the first time the rifle clutched in her grasp. She held on to the gun so tightly, her fingers were white, and there was ammunition in a pile off to her right. The bullets jingled as Dogmeat planted his front paws on the bed, reaching up and clawing at Allison to get a reaction, but it was like he wasn’t there. She completely ignored him, staring at her rifle.

“Alli?” and she was scared this time. She took a step forward.

Allison racked the bolt, chambering a round, and Cait froze.

“They’ve got him,” she said, voice crackly like she was dehydrated. Quiet. Bewildered. And she was trembling now. Anyone other than Cait wouldn’t notice, but her hands were trembling. “They’ve done something to him. He thinks he’s one of them.”

“Alli?”

She looked up at her, and Cait’s heart hammered. There was barely any recognition.

Her hands stopped trembling, her whole body becoming deathly still. Dogmeat whined.

She breathed like she was looking through the scope of her gun.

“We’re going back for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, there will still be explicitly described sex scenes, and not like the fade-to-black I did here. There was just a little too much sex for the past chapters, so I didn't want you all to slog through another scene. Thank you so much for reading all the way to this chapter, and for coming back after my unintentional, unannounced hiatus. I'll see you all next chapter!


	14. The Institute I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy!

Allison didn’t know what to expect when she walked through the relay. She’d heard so many old wives tales, so many horror stories about the Institute that corridors of obsidian and torches spitting black flames wouldn’t have surprised her.

So when she’d stepped through the first door and saw halls of pristine white and technological marvels to rival her wildest fantasies, she’d been taken aback. The Institute looked more hospital than anything else, looked more like a heavenly paradise than a hell where demons poached the innocent in baths of fire.

And Shaun. He was there too.

Sixty-five years old. Or maybe sixty-four; she couldn’t remember fine details. She couldn’t remember much at all, actually. She’d almost shot Cait the moment she first saw her again, but her hair and her eyes and her accent froze her trigger finger.

And Shaun… She didn’t recognize him at all.

Sure, he had his mother’s stark, inquisitive eyes and his father’s everything else. And he sounded like Nate too, deep and affirming, and she’d thought he was Nathan at first, here to collect Shaun just like she was. But he was not Nathan.

He didn’t think like Nathan, didn’t talk like Nathan. He didn’t share Nathan’s philosophies on right and wrong, on how far was too far before the results weren’t worth the sacrifice. To Shaun, sacrifice was negligible. Sacrifice was unavoidable, and was therefore overlooked entirely.

She’d seen his sacrifices.

A terminal detailing a glitch in the chip of Generation III synthetics that confused targeting parameters and induced a murderous insanity. A simple fix, a software bug in the chip that needed an update. But only the new synths received the update, because the Institute “didn’t have the resources for a factory recall.”

A whole settlement wiped off the map because a teenage girl happened upon schematics that could marginally improve the Institute’s power efficiency. Because Shaun’s first instinct when faced with an uncooperative community was to step on it.

An entire wing swept under the rug where men were turned into mindless monsters. Where demons poached the innocent in vats of green fire, and it was then that she knew this was no heavenly paradise.

But she’d turned a blind eye, because she’d made sacrifices too. Because this was Shaun, who she’d killed for, who she’d kill for again if she needed to. And, according to Shaun, she would need to kill again.

That was what she did for a while: kill for the people she’d sworn to kill herself. Most of the time, a Courser tagged along, too, an X6-88. Tall and black, with a personality as cool and tasteless as ice and an ego big enough for three Coursers and a half. To keep tabs on her, Allison figured, while she did the Institute’s dirty work.

Like synth retention, but on top of clearing out settlements and performing routine strikes against Railroad patrols, stealing someone’s freedom away was what Allison deemed too far.

She had a conversation with Shaun on their individual definitions of “too far.”

A conversation atop the C.I.T. ruins. A conversation about morals, and the cost of progress. A conversation that revealed to her that this was _not_ her son. A conversation that ended in tears, that ended when Allison reached out to grab him and he disappeared in a flash of blue. And her hopes disappeared with him.

They’d done something to him, maybe torture- no, that wasn’t the Institute’s style. Too messy, too unreliable. But brainwashing seemed like something they were capable of.

There, on the rooftop, on her knees with weeping eyes and quivering lips and a heart that didn’t want to beat anymore, she counted the scars they’d given her.

Murdering Nate. Stealing Shaun. Leaving her to die in an irradiated wasteland without so much as a warning.

Turning Shaun against her. That hurt the most, because she’d drummed up this crazy fantasy that she’d barge in and steal him away to where no one could touch him, but she couldn’t now. They’d stolen her baby boy from her, in every sense of the word.

There, on the rooftop, on her knees with glaring eyes and gnashing teeth and a heart that pumped so hard it should’ve burst, she counted how many Institute fucking _bastards_ she’d have to kill to get to his office on the top floor. How many she’d have to kill on the way out.

When she came to the conclusion _all of them_ and her trigger finger twitched a fast, steady rhythm, she knew this was the right thing to do.

 

**ooooo**

 

Someone said something when she lumbered through the door, but she didn’t care about what they had to say. Through the fog, she heard neither “the Institute” nor “Shaun,” so she didn’t concern herself with their worries.

There was ammunition to inventory, weapons to clean, armor to reinforce, and strategies to be planned. However, she found the weapons were already cleaned, some many times over, and the armor was reinforced. There already was a strategy, based around the holotape in her pocket, so the only thing left to do was ammo.

The shotgun was easy enough to load, just jam two shells in the chamber and close the break.

_Two shells at a time was slow, but she had the patience. She figured while she reloaded, she could watch their brains blow out their skulls and paint the walls. That would be nice. Every trigger pull a work of art, something to hang on the walls of a gallery. “Mindless Brutality” she’d call it; “Part I of a two-part series.”_

The pistol required more finesse to shove bullets in the magazine, her thumb raw by the time she’d loaded them all. Twenty-four in the first, but only twelve in the rest because anything longer was awkward to stow away.

_A splash of neon- three dots in perfect lateral form- and another white lab coat sprouted scarlet roses and fell to the floor, whispering mercy and death in the same, final sentence. The dots shifted, caught a man in black firing bolts of blue, and when the dots shuddered again, so did the man. This canvas was too dark to see the blossoms, but still they grew and stained the sterile floor beneath him._

The rifle was last, because it required the most effort. Only twenty per mag, but there a lot of mags. Too many maybe, but then-.

_She pulled, and from the end of the instrument spat a wonderful staccato, intense and lively and breathtaking. And they must’ve thought so too, the white lab coats, because they were dancing to the groove, twirling to the tune, every punctual note piercing their souls and spreading it all over the floor. But_ click! _and she frowned, because the track had ended, and the dancing was over._

Definitely as many as she could carry.

But now that she was done, she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to leave now and start the journey, but the evening was too late to travel. Too hot, and the critters of the night would tear her up before she ever got to Cambridge.

Allison was fairly certain there was someone else that lived here, and a dog too. Maybe… Nate? Was she dreaming? Was this her waking from a bad dream?

No, it wasn’t. Nate was allergic to dogs, so it couldn’t have been him. The only thing they’d had together was a child. A baby boy.

Shaun. She remembered him like it was only yesterday that she’d rocked him side to side, lulled him to sleep in her arms with his favorite song, and laid him to rest in his crib. She couldn’t, now, and she knew why.

Because of Conrad Kellogg. Because of the Institute’s constant desire for a perfect specimen. Because of the Institute.

She couldn’t kill Conrad because he was already dead. At her hand, probably; she only had vague memories of emptying a gun into a bald man’s face.

But she could kill the Institute, and she trembled at the realization. She had to consciously force her finger from out of the trigger guard, because she just might do it. She just might pull the trigger. She looked down and racked the bolt to see if the chamber was loaded; it wasn’t, so she pulled all the way back and released.

Then she noticed the dog scratching at her leg, whining and trying to grab her attention. Its pelt was familiar; a neighbor’s? Had she left the front door open again and let Suzanne’s dog in?

“Alli?”

The voice was frail and accented, coming from the doorway. A woman’s. Probably Suzanne here for her dog.

But then Dogmeat whined again, and she remembered who he was, remembered that Suzanne and her dog were dead. She remembered Nate was dead too, and that the Institute had Shaun, and that she had new mission now.

“They’ve got him,” she said. “They’ve done something to him. He thinks he’s one of them.”

She remembered how’d they’d changed him, and it was like a shot of morphine to her heart. An instant calm, and she was lining up the sights, one bead between two. Now she was pulling the trigger-.

“Alli?”

Allison looked up to the voice. Cait was her name, and she was supposed to be her girlfriend. Her love.

But that couldn’t be, because she’d already pledged her love to Nate. “Until death do you part?” and she’d said “I do.”

She looked up at Cait, at the red-haired imposter.

“We’re going back for him.”

Cait said something, but Allison was already focused on shoveling the bullets back into the case. She’d need to bring spares, she estimated one extra box per ammo type.

X6-88 gripped her shoulder and she whirled back around, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him forward until the barrel of her rifle poked into his gut. The trigger was already halfway pulled before she recognized it was Cait impaled at the end of her rifle, eyes wide, spluttering.

Allison released her, and shook off the image. She’d almost killed her, almost pulled the trigger all the way and emptied every shot into her gut. That tied her own gut into a queasy knot for some reason, but it didn’t make sense because she loved Nathan, not this red-haired imposter.

“Allison?” Cait asked, but Allison wanted nothing to do with her. She stood and pushed past, and when X6-88 grabbed her shoulder again, she restrained from turning around and slugging him.

Dinner was a Salisbury steak cooked on the grill, but Allison always preferred Nate’s skill with the grill to the chrome dome’s. She ate alone, because the red-haired imposter insisted they were something more and she wouldn’t quit bugging Allison about it when she sat at the table.

“Can you believe it, Nate?” she asked through a mouthful of steak while she lounged in a folding chair outside. “Forced from my own kitchen table.”

The dog followed her out, and when she kicked it away, it looked at her with a weird expression. But what was she going on about? It was a dog. And no collar meant it was a stray.

“Git!” she commanded, but instead of trotting away, it sulked up her front steps and into her house. She didn’t object.

Time passed, the stars emerged, and the moon revealed itself.

“I’ll get him back, Nate.” She nodded, staring at the stars. “I’ll bring him back here and we can pick up right where we left off.”

When Allison returned to her bedroom for the night, the other woman was already there, in her bed. She looked up when Allison entered, hopeful, sniffing a runny nose. Allison wanted to shoo her away like she shooed the stray, but she didn’t. The woman wanted to cuddle.

But Allison loved Nate, not this red-haired imposter. She disrobed from her clothes, but not her underwear, and then she slipped into the covers, facing away. Tomorrow, she’d set off for the ruins, and a few days later, she’d return with her baby boy.

Allison drifted off to the sound of soft sobbing behind her.

 

**ooooo**

 

The imposter and the stray would come along as well. Allison wouldn’t turn down an extra gun, and the woman demanded to not be left alone again. The dog seemed to be trained somewhat, understanding basic commands, and she could use a good scout.

She explained her plan to them that morning; aside from the main relay, there was only one way in and one way out. The cooling water tunnels allowed access into the back door, and from there, they’d travel to Advanced Systems where they’d place a fusion pulse charge on the main reactor. Then, they’d find Shaun, leave through the main relay, and blow the place sky high. The explosion would be visible for miles

Once breakfast was scarfed, they grabbed their packs and weapons and left through the front door.

The trip would take three days. Three days where there was nothing to do but think. And that scared her.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait didn’t know what was happening.

The person was there, backpack bobbing with each long stride through the heat, weapons swaying idly, red hair concealed beneath a baseball cap. The eyes, the voice, the lips were all there, the muscles and the curvier parts of her present and accounted for.

The body was there, but the soul wasn’t. Adrift, maybe, possessed by something. Whoever this was wasn’t Allison. It walked like her, talked like her, but it was _not_ Allison.

Allison didn’t talk to thin air, grumbling under her breath every now and then. Allison didn’t shove guns in Cait’s gut and threaten to shoot. Allison didn’t look at her like she were an annoyance, or she hadn’t for a long time. Allison didn’t leave the bed in the morning before Cait had the chance to wake up.

And Allison _especially_ never hurt Dogmeat. Cait herself had almost caught a bullet for the simple threat to kick the furry bastard, and yet through the window, Allison had done just that.

She’d thought Allison was a synth, at first. She’d thought her lover really had died and they’d made a synth from her corpse.

Until that night, after Allison dozed off, Cait had reached her hand out across the bed to touch her.

She was warm, just like Allison. She was brimming with power and strength, just like Allison. Her hair was soft and plush, just like Allison’s. And when Cait pressed her palm to her back, she felt a heartbeat, just like Allison’s. Synths didn’t have heartbeats, did they?

Cait didn’t know, and her ignorance put a strain on her abilities.

The fact that they brought two sleeping bags didn’t ease her conscience either; they usually slept together in one. When Allison unrolled hers next to a tree, slipped inside the flap, and turned the other direction, Cait knew nothing had changed since last night.

But Cait needed her, and if she couldn’t have her in the conventional sense, she’d make do. Tucked away in her sleeping bag, she scooted close to Allison, as close as she could get, and cautiously laid her arm over Allison’s waist.

Allison didn’t react.

Cait sat up and leaned in, leaned over until half of Allison’s face was an inch away from hers.

She wanted to say something, but her throat was too tight to squeeze out anything but a sob. Instead, she placed a feather-light kiss on her cheek.

“I love you,” she managed to choke out, her breath displacing a few loose strands. Cait took them carefully and tucked them away.

Then she laid her head to rest.

“Goodnight, Sunshine.”

And she fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

**ooooo**

 

The bag next to her was empty when she awoke, and the fire had been stoked behind her. When she glanced over, Allison was sitting up on the other side, staring blankly into the flames. Day hadn’t broken yet, the sky still a palette of purples and dark blues, and the firelight illuminated Allison’s murmuring lips.  Cait wiped the sleep from her eyes and removed herself from her bag, rolled it up, and stowed it in her pack.

“You were supposed to keep watch,” Allison stated.

Cait’s throat dried. “I thought Dogmeat-.”

“Dogmeat can’t shoot a gun,” she said, cutting her off.

“He can bark-.”

“You were supposed to keep watch,” Allison repeated in the same monotone, and Cait searched her face. She wondered if Allison even remembered what she’d eaten for breakfast. If she’d eaten anything for breakfast.

“Ya got any jerky?” Cait asked, but Allison didn’t hear her. Lost in the crackle and the hiss of the flames. Dogmeat inched forward and looked expectantly towards his master.

She hadn’t fed him yet.

“Alli?” Cait asked again, more urgently, and Allison still ignored her. “Alli, dammit! Listen ta me!”

She looked over. “What?”

“Do ya have food?” Cait asked, exasperated.

She frowned. “I told you to pack your own.”

Cait’s jaw dropped, lips searching for words. “But- but ya always-.”

Allison shook her head, returned her gaze to the fire. “Should’ve packed your own.”

Cait was staring into the fire as well by the time Allison stood to leave. Knees pulled into her chest, lips pressed to her forearms, trying unsuccessfully to stomp out the fear in her stomach. She waited to see if Allison noticed that she wasn’t beside her.

When Cait turned around, Allison was already far away.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait tried a different approach the next night. They’d made excellent progress, due to the fact that Allison stopped neither to relieve herself nor to grab food from her pack. She was a machine again, needing nothing but an occasional sip from her canteen, but Cait knew she was more than that. Knew she needed more than just water and a mission.

She knew it from their old, late night talks where Allison spilled her heart to Cait because she could hold no more sorrow. She knew it from the chemicals she used to shove in her arms, because Allison couldn’t handle any more pain. She knew it from the looks Cait received, the looks that undressed her with her eyes, even the sounds she made when Cait tied her to the bed and fucked her because she could take no more teasing.

And that’s what she was going for, and she’d be a fool to deny the nervousness she felt when she stalked like a panther around the fire. When she crawled into Allison’s lap and bit her lip just like Allison liked; she was hunting for the need trapped somewhere in this body that looked like Allison but wasn’t.

Because maybe then she’d magically open up, and Cait wouldn’t have to sleep in a cold, empty sleeping bag. Because it was torment to have the body here but not the mind, because dammit, all Cait wanted was an “I love you.”

She didn’t even have to say it. She could express it in her gaze. She could hold her tight, for even a second, just a hug. She could shed a tear, just anything that would tell Cait that the love of her life loved her back.

But Allison didn’t show anything when Cait gently pushed her shoulders to the ground.

No familiar spark in her eye when Cait rolled her hips, rocked and swayed her body with a sensual grace that Allison had once quite literally drooled over.

No flush in her cheeks when Cait gradually unbuttoned her top, one popping after the other until her breasts burst from the tight clothing.

No hitch of the breath when Cait pinched her stiff nipples, when she brought one after the other into her mouth and nibbled like they were made of chocolate. That used to drive her wild.

Nothing. She could be doing this to a corpse with open eyes and Cait wouldn’t be able to tell a difference.

But then she ground down into her crotch, and Allison shuddered. A spike of hope, so powerful it was painful, and Cait’s hands were shaking when she slowly unzipped her pants.

“Stop.” Allison said, slightly irritated.

Cait froze, heart pounding, unable to look her in the eye. “I- I thought-.”

“Stop.”

Simple. Punctuated. Easy to understand.

It didn’t feel that way. It felt sharp, like Allison had just reached inside her chest and cut open her heart. Her cheeks stung, her throat contracting, and she bit her lip. She bit her lip because she was already foolish enough, naked and on top of someone that didn’t want her. Because how did she think this would turn out?

She bit her lip because this was no place to cry.

She stood with her shirt crumpled in her hand, and Allison watched her stand with dead eyes.

“I’ve gotta take a leak,” Cait said, but she didn’t really. She couldn’t look at her, at not-Allison, and she almost sprinted from the empty toy store they’d found refuge in.

That was how she found herself in an alley with her hand over her mouth and her other hand working her clit. Feeling foolish and stupid and unsexy and so, so alone. When the convulsions stopped, she covered her eyes with her wet hands and wept, because here, where not-Allison couldn’t see her; this was an okay place to cry.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait hadn’t been told the entrance was underwater. Cait hadn’t been told much of anything about the plan aside from the bare basics.

“We’ll hide our gear here,” Allison had said, stuffing her backpack into a crevice of the store. She’d strapped her shotgun to her left hip, and slung the rifle around her back. “Only your guns and ammo past this point. We should be clear of the blast zone…”

But the way Allison had said it, Cait hadn’t believe it. Still, she’d tossed her pack into the hiding spot and followed Allison out into the street and to the water’s edge.

Murky and foul, the water matched her mood. It sloshed against the cobblestone wall in sinister intervals, and Cait wondered if there were mutant sharks in the water.

Allison apparently didn’t share her fear, because when Cait glanced her way, she was midair to the water. Not so much as a few rogue bubbles betrayed where she’d vanished, but Dogmeat was much less subtle. Cait followed with trepidation.

Cold and tingly, just like it always was. It burned her eyes, but she persevered and looked around; she only caught a glimpse of Allison’s kicking feet before they disappeared into the circular entrance of a tunnel near the bottom, and Dogmeat was close behind. Cait kicked after them.

Cait emerged last from the tunnel soaking wet but still breathing, the other two positioned at a grate a few feet from her position. While Allison looked for a way to open it from this side, Cait made sure her weapons were all loaded and on her person after the swim.

Her sawed off was still snug in its holster on her left hip, much the same as Allison’s was, and the snub nose revolver was still shoved down the back of her pants. The swatter had it’s own custom “sheath” created by Allison that hung from her back, and the knife was strapped to her thigh.

Allison found the console, and the hydraulics hissed as the grate slid upward, and Allison was the first to vanish once again.

Cait swam after her, the water roaring up ahead. She only realized the sound was a waterfall when the water dropped out from under her, and she opened her mouth to cry out, but putrid water invaded her lungs instead of air. She tumbled down until she was falling through open air and belly flopped painfully in a pool of water just below.

She panicked, thrashing underwater and desperately clawing for the surface when a powerful arm plunged through the surface and grabbed her wrist. Cait landed on dry land with a thud, coughing up water.

“Thanks,” she said through watery lungs, checking her weapons were all there.

Allison paid her no mind.

The room was large and rectangular, a stone walkway bordering a pool where several other tunnels dumped their contents from above. It was dark and dank, the only light being the malevolent glow of a few scattered light fixtures that cast red onto the black water, the only air to breathe choked with the small of irradiated water.

Cait stood groggily, but Allison pulled her into a crouch in the shadow of one of the support columns where a damp Dogmeat already skulked.

Cait searched the only entrance into the room, but there was no one blatantly there. However, when Allison unsung her rifle and took aim at the roof, Cait noticed the green glow of a dormant turret hanging from the ceiling.

The gunshot was deafening in such close quarters, and the turret overloaded in an explosion of sparks.

“Always in pairs…” Cait heard her mutter, and she followed her up to edge of the wide doorway and took shelter there.

Allison peeked around the corner, then retreated. Then, she peaked around the corner again, this time with rifle equipped, and another gunshot later, Allison entered the hallway with her companions in tow. At the end was another pipe, but this pipe was long and straight, the water only sloshing to halfway to their knees.

At that end of the pipe was another grate, but there was a maintenance hatch to the left. Allison examined the mechanism, retrieving a breaching charge, but she stowed it when she identified a foldable handle. With muscles straining, she pushed and pushed, feet sliding on the slippery floor, and the hatch eventually gave way and slid soundlessly to the side.

They were in a basement now, behind a junked fusion reactor with stairs leading to the floor above. The ceiling was metal grate, and they could see there was no one there, so they climbed the stairs and exited through the door to arrive at a ramp. Down below were the remains of the stairs, but it wasn’t a long drop, so Allison heaved herself over the railing.

The instant her feet hit the ground, a massive mole rat burst from the ground, chattering a war cry. Cait took aim, but Dogmeat struck for its throat and mauled the thing before it had the chance to squeal.

Cait hopped down, and then it was only a few more steps until they were wading through waist-high water.

A brick tunnel stretched before them, floor slanted inward on both sides and flooded in the middle. It was near total darkness, a red lamp here and there that cast a sanctuary of light amidst the blackness. A massive pipe traveled the length of the tunnel, and the party continued onward at a slow pace, water slogging with every step.

They arrived at a junction, and no sooner had Allison decided the way than had a feral ghoul risen from the depths and hobbled toward them. Cait aimed, but Allison grabbed the barrel of her gun and shoved it away.

A _click!_ announced the thin blade of a pocketknife, and when the ghoul charged, Allison pushed it away with her left forearm and drove the blade into its temple. It stilled immediately, the black sludge swallowing its limp body whole.

“Watch for more. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to,” Allison said, rinsing the knife in the water.

They stalked the tunnel around another junction, Allison stabbing another ghoul to death before they came upon the tunnel’s end where it dumped into another passageway, this one slightly larger.

They all halted when a glowing ghoul slinked from the water, charred by radiation, bloated by its own internal gasses. Allison retreated, quickly swapping her knife for her pistol, but Cait stepped in and swung.

Her swatter cracked against its skull, but it was a tough son-of-a-bitch, so she reared and swung again. It dropped to its knees, but it wasn’t quite dead, so she swung again. Cait didn’t know if the groan was postmortem, but she brought the bat over her head and swung one last time.

Like cracking open an egg, its toxic, glowing brains spilled from its skull and swirled into the water.

Allison pushed past without a word, no congratulations or witty remarks. That hurt worse than her stinging hands, but she washed the bat in the water and followed Allison, who’d already dropped down into the second tunnel.

Allison stopped again and crouched near the support strut hugging a wall, and Dogmeat and Cait took up positions opposite her. She peeked the corner, then pulled her pistol and screwed a box suppressor to the end of the barrel. She aimed, leaning against the corner.

One shot echoed, a shot that was still loud despite the suppressor, and Allison cursed.

Another shot, and this time, a muffled boom accompanied the patter of brass to the stone floor.

They moved up until the tunnel turned directly left, and when they rounded the corner, voices drifted to them. An elevated walkway on the left wall saved them from sloshing through more water, and a series of windows and doors lined the wall all the way down until the end of the tunnel.

They hugged the wall, the voices getting louder until, just before the first door, they reached a breach in the brick. Allison looked through it with her head low, weapon ready, and Cait crawled up beside her.

The room on the other side was lower than their elevation, and through shallow water waded a man in white clothing and a Gen II synth that droned information.

“Fault is a class two stress fracture. Repair protocol cannot be rushed,” it said.

Allison continued, pausing at a door locked by a terminal, but she didn’t seem to like what she saw what she glimpsed through the window because she continued further.

Another turret in the hallway up ahead, but instead of a steady shot, she rushed it as quietly as she could. She fired a single bullet just as the first warning beep sounded, and Cait cringed from the ruckus they’d raised.

Sure enough, from the last doorway in the hall, a tinny voice announced, “Moving to investigate.”

Allison and Dogmeat darted to the door, and Cait pressed herself against the wall, shotgun aimed and ready.

A gun appeared in the doorway, and Cait watched as Allison reached out and grabbed it, pulled it and the synth grasping it out into the hall, and then shoved the muzzle of the suppressor in its face and fired. _Thwack!_ and it shuddered when Allison shoved it over the railing and into the water.

Allison entered and Cait followed, winding up in a cluster of broken fusion reactors in a fenced off area of the room. A turret whirred somewhere they couldn’t see, and a synth ambled along the fence. Using the reactors as cover, they snuck past the synth and to a door on their right that took them up a flight of stairs. A left turn at the top, and in it was what used to some kind of lounge, but now there was garbage in all corners and a synth walking through the doorway on the far side.

A bullet to the head and it clattered to the floor, servos spinning and instruments ticking.

Through the door was another stairwell that lead downward, leading them back the way they came. At the bottom was a hallway that curved to the left, and as they followed the bend, the whirring of the turret returned.

Allison had to shoot it the moment she saw it, because it was already drawing a bead on the trio by the time they’d noticed it.

The explosion caught attention, several metallic voices saying, “Moving to investigate.”

There was nowhere to hide in this hallway, so they were forced to push forward into the next room. Which ended up being the room they’d first entered into, the fenced off area with the reactors in the far left corner.

There were also two synths, one near the fence and the other walking through the door on the right. Both alert, both with weapons raised or raising.

Allison fired a bullet into the chest of the synth by the fence, then whipped her body to the synth entering the room and put a bullet through where its heart would’ve been. But they weren’t human, and though there was clear damage, it wasn’t catastrophic.

So she whipped back to the left who was aiming at them and sent another bullet into its chest, then turned back to the right and did the same.

Nearly there but not quite, so she did it one more time. A bullet to the left, turn, than a bullet to the right.

The leftmost synth struggled to stand, and the rightmost synth dropped to a knee.

Catastrophic damage, but still clinging to autonomy with spindly, metal fingers.

Allison stepped left, aimed, and fired- its head snapped backwards, and its body went rigid as it fell on its face- then stepped right, aimed, and fired- its head whipped, gleaming shards tinkering to the floor before the rest of the body joined them.

Another voice from the door on the right, but it was relatively distant. Allison quietly took up position on the left side of the door, and when the synth walked through, she grabbed its gun and pointed it skyward. The barrel shoved under its chin, its neon eyes flickered once and died with a _thwack!_

This doorway led to a short hall, another crimson light washing the walls with atmosphere, and then they found themselves in the room they’d seen through the hall.

The man in the white clothes was alone, the synth that previously accompanied him lying dormant in the hall behind them. The man frowned warily when the trio entered.

“Who are you?”

His answer was a shot to the stomach, and he fell to his knees clutching his wound, doubled over in pain. But Cait was probably more shocked than he was, because though she could tell he was Institute by the lapel on his shoulder, he was completely unarmed.

Allison walked down the ramp and stopped before him. When he looked up at her, she pointed to the hatch in the pipe behind her.

“Does this lead to the relay room?” she asked. Dogmeat loomed behind them both, growling at the man.

“What?” he asked.

She mumbled something to herself and checked her Pipboy.

Then she shot him in the face.

“Alli, what the fock?!” Cait was gaping, brow furrowed.

Allison walked to the hatch and pressed a green button on a console to the side, neglecting Cait’s question.

“Alli!”

“He was Institute.” But it rang hollow, like a gunshot in a closed corridor.

“Yeah, but he didn’t have a gun on him!”

“He’s the Institute,” and she clambered into another pipe without looking back. Dogmeat whined, concerned, and he trotted after her.

“Bloody hell,” Cait said to no one, and then she climbed in after her.

This section was short, with Cait spending only a few seconds traversing the pipe before the next open hatch. Allison was already at a terminal on the far side of the room, eyes scanning the screen and clacking away. She pressed eject and collected a holotape, which she carelessly shoved into a side pocket.

“What’re ya doin’?” Cait asked.

She said something under her breath.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“No one gets out.”

“What?”

Allison unscrewed the suppressor and reholstered both the suppressor and the pistol, unslinging her rifle and checking the bolt before walking to the next door.

“Hey!” Cait said, walking up behind her and grabbing her shoulder. She stopped, but looked ready to walk off again if Cait let go of her. “‘No one gets out?’ What the hell does that mean?”

“What does it sound like?”

Cait frowned, because that couldn’t be right. “And the synths? Ya just gonna leave ‘em to go up in fire?”

Allison whirled around, brow furrowed. “Why do _you_ care about them?”

“ _I_ don’t give a damn.” Cait jabbed her finger into her chest plate. “ _You_ do, ya dumbarse!”

The talks over breakfast about what would happen to the synths when the Institute was no more? The postcoital conversations about synth humanity while Cait traced shapes and letters into Alli’s sweaty stomach? The eventual agreement during a movie one day that if a synthetic lifeform couldn’t reliably differentiate from an organic lifeform, then maybe there wasn’t a difference to be found? Where did they all go?

“You said-,” and she had to steady her voice because it was shaking now, “You said synths were people. Ya said that anyone sayin’ otherwise was a bigoted arsehat, and you said killin’ synths ‘cause they’re synths is like ethnic cleansin’.” She looked in her eyes, searching for a spark of some recognition. “Arguments, Alli! You had _arguments_ over it, and now you’re just gonna go back on your word? Just like that?”

She looked in her eyes, searching for a spark of some recognition that wasn’t there. There was cold indifference, vile hatred. There was no empathy.

Allison turned and walked away.

“Alli,” Cait called out weakly, but Allison was through the door, and Cait had no other option but to follow.

She found Allison tapping buttons on a keypad in the next room in an attempt to open a glass elevator, but she grunted after a few seconds, then looked at her Pipboy. She pivoted left, spotted a door, and walked to it. This keypad beeped when she tapped in a code, and the door creaked open.

This area was not built of glossy white and clean ceramic plates; this area was rundown and decaying, rust slowly consuming the splotches of green paint that hadn’t yet peeled off. The floors had caved in at too many places to count, and the ceiling panels were failing to stay aloft, revealing the ductwork and the whistling pipes and the thick power cables snaking everywhere.

Allison was at the bottom of a groaning staircase, attacking another keypad, and by the time Cait caught up with her, the doors slid open. Ahead of them was a rectangular room, doors rusted shut on the opposite and left sides, and on the right, a shattered window stretched across the wall until the wall ended at a staircase that lead right on the far side of the room.

They were only a few cautious steps into the room before the signature buzz rang three times, but they couldn’t see the turret, so they ducked beneath the window. Blue lasers soared overhead, and Allison cursed, looking around for an exit, but they had nowhere else to go but back up the stairs.

A break in the firing pattern came, and both women peeked over their cover.

The floor of the next room was one story lower than their position, and the staircase to their left kept to the wall for almost all the way down, but halted at an elevated deck near the bottom. The far left corner was open to the next area, with several synths creeping into the room, plastic, expressionless faces staring at them as they methodically approached the staircase and hid behind the stub of the deck.

The turret blared its three buzzes, and Cait ducked before she could spot the turrets.

“Ceiling, far side,” Allison said, but it didn’t sound like it was meant for Cait’s benefit.

The turret blasted at their wall without relent, allowing the synths to gain ground. Allison looked focused on dealing with the turrets, so Cait crawled around her to where Dogmeat crouched behind the corner to the staircase.

He growled low and Cait listened to the telltale sounds of feet clambering up the stairs.

Cait saw its legs first as it stepped around the corner, and she pulled the trigger. Its kneecap exploded into plastic bits of skin and it fell to the floor with one less leg.

There was one more synth behind it, just a couple steps down the stairs, and Cait stood, leaned out of cover, and fired the other barrel into its chest. She immediately ducked behind cover, so she didn’t have time to admire how the blast lifted it off its feet and sent it tumbling down the stairs.

The legless synth was preoccupied, swiping frantically at Dogmeat while he wrestled the laser pistol from its hands. Cait didn’t hurry herself as she reached around her back and pulled her snub nose out of her pants, pointed at its head, and pulled the trigger. A new hole in its face, its hiccupped, then stilled. The warm barrel felt good against her bare tailbone when she shoved the revolver into her waistband.

Allison shuffled past and turned the corner, the turrets destroyed, and Cait rushed the reload of her shotgun and fumbled a shell onto the floor because she didn’t want to be left behind. Two more shots in quick succession rang out before Cait had jammed the shell into the chamber, and Cait rounded the corner just in time to witness Allison fire two more shots into a synth just entering the room.

Allison hopped the railing to the deck, and Dogmeat leapt after her, making their way to the far left corner. Cait followed suit, and met with Allison in the next room, a sort of balcony looking over an assembly line far below. The room was narrow and long, the drop to the floor below dizzying, and on the other side of the balcony was a doorway.

That was their target, but unfortunately, two turrets rained a barrage down on them from the ceiling a short distance away. And on top of that, a close series of windows on the left wall was occupied by a handful of synths firing nonstop up at them.

Thankfully, there were several office desks to cower behind, and that was where Cait found Allison. Cait crouched off to the side, hiding in the doorway where nothing could shoot her. Unless something walked through door on the other side of the balcony, but she kept a close eye on it.

“How the bloody hell we getting’ through here?” Cait yelled through the streaks of blue peppering the desk and the wall behind it.

A synth appeared in the doorway, and Cait fired a load of buckshot into its chest that knocked it off its feet.

When the turrets’ brief cooldowns overlapped, Allison popped up and fired two quick shots into the left turret and two more into the right. Both exploded, relieving some of the pressure, but the window on the left wall was still spewing blue lasers.

A lull appeared in their firing pattern, and before Cait could say “Wait!” Allison sprinted brazenly for the door on the left.

Cait could only watch as a beam sliced through Allison’s shoulder, could only cringe from what could’ve been as another nearly skewered her through the head, could only wonder why she’d done something so rash.

But Allison didn’t flinch when she took the shot to her shoulder or when blue singed her nose; she kept chugging toward the door, and seconds later, she dashed through it with Dogmeat hot on her heels.

Cait darted after her, panicked that Allison’s recklessness would harm her. Cait was in a stairwell now, one that led to the window where the synths fired from, and Cait watched from down the hall as Allison dispatched the last two in a group of five. Two for each, she noted as she ran to catch up behind her, if Cait counted the shots right.

Allison removed the magazine and stuffed it onto her bandolier, but voices reverberated from the bend ahead. Cait expected Allison to duck out of the way, as she always had before.

But instead, Allison pushed forward, dropped her rifle so it dangled from her shoulder, and unholstered her shotgun and brought the sights to her eye.

The first synth walked around the corner, vacant face tilted to aim his weapon, and Allison let loose a blast from hell. The 10 gauge ripped through the synth and Cait’s eardrums alike, and Allison showed the same mercy when the second synth stepped into view and exploded into scrap.

With a deftness Cait envied, Allison slid two fresh shells into the chamber at the same time and closed the break.

Cait caught her shoulder in the middle of reloading her rifle, and she glanced around.

“Alli, for fock’s sake, slow down!”

“No time,” Allison mumbled quietly. “They were Institute.”

“But Alli, your arm-,” Cait said hopelessly when Allison twisted away. However, Cait wouldn’t be so easily deterred, not when Allison’s health was of concern. She wrestled her to a stop, and Allison twisted to face her. Cait was prepared, a stimpack between her teeth, and she tenderly peeled away the sleeve.

The wound was charred, like a laser blast should’ve been, and reeked of burnt flesh. Cait didn’t grimace, because she’d done the same thing to the same person before, and she gripped Allison’s arm firmly to keep it from moving. She ignored the squawking of the synths patrolling below, and plunged the needle.

Allison was trembling again, Cait noticed as she pulled the needle from the arm clutched in her hand. She was trembling, heating up. Cait looked at her face to find Allison was already staring at hers.

She was… conflicted. Like she was recognizing who Cait was.

“… I love you?” Allison said, _asked_ , and Cait’s heart hammered, and she leaned in, and she gripped her arm tighter, and she could see fragments of what once was in her green eyes.

But then the trembling stilled, like a field of grass settling upright after a violent wind, and the fragments shivered to pieces.

“No,” Allison said, and left Cait there.

Clutching at her own heart, fingers digging into the windowsill.

“What?” she called out in a voice that was not her own. A voice that had died with her parents years ago.

She slid to the floor, fists balled, trembling herself, because _what did she say_? That couldn’t be true. She didn’t believe it; the evidence didn’t allow her too.

The tender hugs where Allison whispered wonderful things Cait hadn’t ever heard before. The kisses that taught her that words really didn’t mean anything. The words that taught her that maybe promises weren’t all doomed to break. The wild, sloppy sex where hearts poured just as severely as slick and sweat.

The love they shared. That wasn’t something anyone could fake, was it?

Cait was still new to this, but she figured that if it hurt this much, then there was something there, at least.

She needed to know for herself. A splinter of hope; that was all she needed.

She’d thrived on hope in a locked room in a basement for eighteen years. She’d thrived on hope with a leash and a shock collar around her neck for five years, and she’d thrived on hope fighting for her life in a cage for another three. Hope was her only sustenance for a long, long time.

She needed a little bit of it now, just a little bit, because if there was a single glimmer of hope, if there was a chance the love was real and not a drug-induced illusion, she would fight for it. She would give her life for it without hesitation, because without hope, Cait was nothing.

Gunshots erupted from below, voices filled with static and humming malice shouting combat positions and fizzling out on a bullet’s precise notice. Cait supposed she should help them, but the shots were steady in their progress up the room, so she stood without haste and rounded the corner at the end of the hallway.

A splinter of hope; that was all she needed.

The room buzzed below her as she descended, but not with three sharp chirps. It was one buzz that drew on for several seconds: a sentry bot.

But Cait found that it, too, was no match for Allison’s blank glare. She’d just exited the stairwell when Allison lobbed a pulse grenade at its rapidly-advancing bulk, and with a jolt of electricity, the bot shuddered and went limp. Allison, content with her work, stepped out from her place behind a conveyor belt and crossed the long distance to the other end of the room.

Cait walked after her, grim determination on her face and crescent indents on her palms.

A splinter of hope; that was all she needed.

Bullet casings and pieces of synth crunched beneath her boot, the aftermath an obstacle course of motionless mannequins and one lethargic giant. Cait scaled all of it in record time, following Allison around a corner to the right and to a hatch in the floor.

She was crouched with a box of ammunition beside her, refilling her empty magazines bullet by bullet. When she was done, she stood.

“Alli.”

Her foot traveled to a button on the floor.

“Allison,” Cait said with as much resolve as she could muster, and she yanked her shoulder until she twirled to face her.

A splinter of hope; that was all she needed.

Cait searched for the splinter in her mouth, cupped her face and pressed her lips to Allison’s. She didn’t react, not when Cait stroked her fingers through her hair, and not when Cait wormed her tongue into her mouth.

No resistance. No retaliation. No reaction at all.

No splinter.

Cait searched in her eyes, looked deep into the black pits of her pupils and begged for anything to surface.

Nothing but a killer’s glare.

No splinter.

Cait’s fingers closed around her wrist, and she guided her hand up under her shirt and over her heart, so that Allison could find the hope for her. Neither moved. She had to feel it, because Cait could feel it about to explode from her ribcage.

Nothing but a limp, calloused hand against her flesh.

No splinter.

Cait released her wrist. Allison removed her hand, not quickly but not dawdling, turned around, and pushed the button with her foot. The hatch hissed, and then Cait was alone because Allison and Dogmeat had abandoned her in this cold, dimly lit factory.

Her breathing was staggered, her eyes hot and wet, but she didn’t give up. She was hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth with no way out, but she didn’t quit. She’d been alone before, completely alone with no one to trust, and she knew that in these moments, she had to keep searching.

Under every rock, in every crevice, among every wayward wind.

Because a splinter of hope, a tiny, hair’s breadth of hope; that was all she needed to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! Your support is what keeps me going when times are tough. I'll see you all next chapter.


	15. The Institute II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the support! Please enjoy!

She was here for Shaun. There were no other objectives, no extraneous mission parameters; save Shaun at any cost, that was why she was here.

And make them pay. That was important, too, but only after Shaun’s safety was secured.

Shaun came before everyone, before Nathan, before herself, before this mangy mutt that insisted he tag along. Before this red-haired imposter that kissed her and hugged her and said she loved her, but that wasn’t true because she was wed to Nathan.

He was waiting at home, lounging on his seat at the couch- the leftmost cushion, because the springs didn’t shriek like a banshee on that side-, drinking his favorite beer- Gwinnett Stout, because that was what he and the boys drank while the Reds shelled their bunker for days on end-, waiting for her to waltz through the front door.

“Like the Mistress of Mystery to the offices of the Silver Shroud,” he’d say.

“And I suppose you’d be the Shroud?”

He’d flash his pearly whites, “Of course, babe! Who else could play such a handsome part?” and she’d roll her eyes.

But this time, she’d have Shaun in her arms, and they’d all tearfully embrace, and then they’d sit down and watch old reruns of _The Unstoppables_ and everything would be okay.

Everything would be okay; she had to remember that. Save Shaun, and everything would be okay.

She’d landed in another dark, dank room caked with rust and grime, still in abandoned territory. She stepped out from behind a wall of pipes as round as she, and found herself next to a generator. The far wall had been blasted open, a hall stretching onward that seemed to be the only way out. She heard the mutt’s nails clink against the cold floor behind her, and a loud thud signaled the redhead’s arrival.

If only the redhead could be more subtle, Allison wouldn’t have to think of her and her distracting lips, and could focus more on the mission than how much she didn’t love her.

The hallway seemed endless, pale lamplight washing over veins of wires and steaming plumbing, her footsteps echoing off the thin, metal walls. The mutt panted incessantly, and the redhead plodded close behind.

They came across a T-junction, one way to the left and another blasted wall to the right. She glanced at the map on her Pipboy and moved through the open wall and through a door on the other side. A reception area greeted them, and they descended a short flight of stairs to another door.

The door hissed open, and blinding, white walls and the hum of activity greeted her on the other side.

This was it. The Institute. They were inside, and somewhere in the bowels of this hell was Shaun, too.

She breathed in the crisp, temperature-controlled air and the smell of hydrogen peroxide. She ogled the rows of gadgets polished to a glossy finish laying on metal trays, her gaze gliding over the sleek edges of custom-built terminals. She listened to the thrum of power cells vibrating behind the walls, picked up snippets of casual conversation.

She saw the façade easy enough; that was all she’d seen the two months she was away, after all.

The façade. What she wanted to see. How the gadgets were technological marvels, how the terminals’ processing power surpassed anything attainable within decades of above-ground research. How the power cells here were ten times as powerful as any other power cell in existence, how the scientists and the botanists and the microbiologists here were masters of their field, unrivaled in their individual brilliance.

Focused on the future of humanity.

But now? With a rifle in her hands and a sharp attention to detail?

Now she saw the tools were sterilized, washed of blood and gore and bits of flesh from things that still lived.

Now she saw the terminal entries contained lists, names of double agents, names of abductees, names of men and women soaking in vats of green fire.

Now she saw the power cells fed energy to machines that made mockeries of men. Machines that let them play god.

Now she saw the scientists and the botanists and the microbiologists talked of life as if it were a trivial thing. Like it could be better and _should_ be better regardless of the cost.

Still focused on the future of humanity, but they’d lost their own somewhere along the way.

When she focused on the present and not the future, she saw a scientist. Four of them, spread out across a cramped room filled by a grid of cubicles. Staring at her, bewildered by her sudden presence.

One of them spoke. McMillan, she remembered, an analyst with a mouth of fire to compensate for his low self-esteem.

“Allison? What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t Father-?”

His head snapped back, a messy spray of scarlet staining the terminal behind him.

He was Institute. They all were Institute.

Their reaction time was slow, unable to comprehend what just happened, and the leftmost woman and the farthest man paid for it with their life. The new color scheme must not have agreed with the fourth man, because he quickly exited the room through the door on the right. Two quick arguments on Allison’s part changed his mind, and he laid to the floor to appreciate the palette forever.

The redhead said something, but she was too busy considering the walls. They always had needed a little color to spice up the place, and the splash of red seemed just the place to start.

Besides; they were Institute. Not like anything of value was lost.

A few startled cries mixed with a healthy dose of tinny chatter drifted through the door, and Allison moved to leave through it. On one side of the exit was a window, threaded with metal wire and reinforced. Bullets and lasers would have a tough time penetrating, so she looked through the viewport without much regard to caution.

The room was tall and circular, three shelved walls segmenting the room into equal thirds, and lush foliage rested on shelves that ran the entire circumference. A few desks and observation tables scattered here and there, tools and equipment placed in orderly fashion.

Three synths stood amidst four or so scientists in the third of the room Allison could see, and she memorized their positioning: one synth on the far left with a rifle, one approaching the doorway from the front with pistol raised about five strides away, and one a little ways behind that one, standing behind a desk.

She raised her rifle, stepped into the room, approximated the shot, and fired into the advancing synth’s face.

Allison moved with purpose and haste, her feet carrying her to the nearest desk about three yards away while she guided the floating, green dot over the synth to the right, and squeezed off a quick burst of two that slammed into its torso and knocked it off its feet.

She snapped over to the synth on the far left, but she wasn’t confident in her aim, so she ducked behind the desk in front of her. Lasers zoomed by, but a loud blast silenced them, and the redhead crouched beside her.

But she was already moving around the edge of the room to the next third.

Two scientists tried to escape around the corner, pristine coats fluttering in their wake, and they’d almost made it to safety before the bullets ripped through them. Three each, stopping them cold in their tracks.

“Guess we’re killin’ everyone, then,” the redhead grumbled.

Then, as the bodies stilled, two synths stepped from behind the wall, and Allison reacted instantly. Two quick ones to their heads because they were just close enough to be an easy shot but far enough away that she had to take two to make sure she hit.

All bullets hit their targets, and they fell in a shower of sparks.

Before the skeletons had settled, two more appeared from behind the wall on the other end of the segment they were leaving.

Allison looked to Cait and jerked her head in their direction. “Take care of them.” Then she pushed forward.

She was nearly torn to shreds from a volley of lasers as she stepped into the next segment, a turret up high and a squad of Synth seekers converging on her position. She dove for a desk just in front of her, lasers whiffing her boots as she frantically pulled them into cover.

Two gunshots exploded behind her, but the snap of lasers returning fire told her that the redhead wasn’t quite done yet. So no retreating; her options were few, but she needed the turret out of action before anything else.

She couldn’t peak over, so she rolled onto her back, rifle butt to her shoulder, and performed a quick scan of the ceiling. The turrets were easy to spot; the room was well lit, and the chrome dome glimmered amidst the green foliage. The turret had already chirped twice, but the neon dot already hovered over the barrel, and she pulled the trigger twice.

The first bullet hit, but the recoil was awkward with her back to the floor, and the second shot landed an inch left. She fired a third, and the whole thing combusted.

Boots clomped on the other side of the desk, two pairs, and she realized she was being flanked by two synths simultaneously.

Eye down the sight, she leaned left until a plastic expressionless face filled her reticule, fired once, then leaned the other direction and did the same. They both fell forward and she rolled back onto her feet, exchanged the empty magazine, and released the bolt.

She was about to peak out when a shotgun blast erupted from behind, “Two on the left, one center, one comin’ up on your right!” and then another shotgun blast and the _thunk!_ of pellets hitting metal from the right.

The lasers focused on the redhead advancing behind her, so she rushed to her feet.

The one on the right was nothing but sparks and twisted metal, the leftmost synths were focused on the charging mutt, and the center was firing at the redhead.

Two shots felled the center, and she moved diagonally left, two into the farthest, and one through the eye socket of the closest.

The area clear and no door that lead further into the facility, Allison headed for the final segment. When she was ten strides away, three synths appeared.

Correction: two synths and a Courser.

The Courser was top priority, and thus it was the first to receive a bullet. But its sleek, leather coat was bulletproof, as were all Courser vests, so it only knocked him a step back.

But it was just enough time to put a burst into the right synth, and it dropped.

Allison stepped forward.

The Courser was recovered, so she planted another in his chest and it stunned him again.

Long enough that she whipped left and loosed a burst into its chest, shredding electronics and inducing a violent seizure.

Allison stepped forward.

The grim line of his lip snarled mildly as he righted himself, but she was still too far. Another in his chest and he stumbled.

Allison stepped forward.

Still too far, so she squeezed another shot, and he stumbled again.

She stepped forward.

Too far, but only just so. The courser fired frantically, but the beam went wide.

She fired once, twice, thrice into his chest, one, two, three bullets slamming him backward.

Once, twice, thrice she stepped forward and she was practically point blank, and as he brought his pistol to bear in a last, desperate attempt for survival, she squeezed the trigger.

Two succinct gunshots, two times his head jerked, two times his brains blew out the back of his skull, and he collapsed to the _click!_ of an empty rifle. Allison was past the wall and prowling into the final third with a fresh magazine by the time the Courser hit the ground.

A hallway on the right wall with a sentry perched above it like a stone gargoyle, but it wasn’t stone, and instead of claws, it spat blue venom. She silenced it with two trigger pulls, the chrome fragments showering like fiery meteors onto the squad of metal men below.

She moved with grace, one foot over the other, one eye squinted and one eye peering through an emerald optic and down a smoking barrel.

The first target was close, so close that both of its joyless eyes barley fit in the glass of her optic, so close that when she pulled the trigger, she glimpsed the glittering components of its brain through the hole in its forehead.

There were a plethora of targets to choose from, several ducked behind a desk, and she picked one off to the left. It was too far away for a comfortable shot, but she squeezed one off anyways and sent another chasing after the first. Both struck its forehead, the first bullet piercing through its glabellum and the second just above its eye.

She was a quarter of a way through the room, her feet still guiding her along a path determined by instinct. A laser drifted past, blue and brilliant and singeing her ear. Filling her optic with light, which was annoying, but she worked with it.

Two standing a yard away from each other took stances behind a desk straight ahead. She swiveled to see them, the dot reticule dancing over the plastic scalps of synths crouched in cover until it floated to a lazy stop above the heart of the leftmost.

She pulled the trigger a little longer, two bullets making shrapnel of its torso.

The second fired, and the beam would’ve hit if she weren’t a moving target. Thus, it missed an inch outside of her elbow, but when Allison squeezed a burst off, the two bullets she fired struck true.

While it dropped with lethargic rapidity, Allison surveyed the room. A few more targets behind desks, but they were beginning to move because she was circling around the border of the room. Their cover was useless now that she’d flanked them from the right.

Three- no, four left, she hadn’t seen one of them at first glance.

Now three, because the redhead had flanked from the other direction, and because they were all gunning for Allison, the redhead was able to take one from behind.

The first was still in the process of standing when her hands brought the sight to bear at center mass. She squeezed the trigger, and through the muzzle flash, she saw it tremble and topple; through the crack of the shots, she heard it squeak something pitiful through its voice box.

The reticule bounded like a dancer soaring over the stage, pausing over the second target, and to the tune of two succinct notes, the synth spun on its toes, and bowed forever as the curtains dropped over its short, meaningless life.

The third took aim with speed only a machine could have, but the dot already hovered above its breast, and before it could twitch its spidery finger crawling over the trigger, two bullets punched through its synthetic ribcage. It collapsed in a heap of plastic skin and metal bones.

There was nothing else to kill in this segment, and when she listened, she couldn’t hear any droning announcements.

But she could hear screams, desperate, crying for help. The hallway was just behind her, and when she walked through the door, she saw them there. A cluster of white clumped at the door, like a snowdrift.

Most of them ceased their screams, turned to stare at her with dumb fear on their faces, but some persisted their banging on the door. It seemed the entire Bioscience division was on total lockdown to keep them contained. She imagined they’d teleport in reinforcements, but she’d stolen the targeting chip for the relay, and without that, the relay room was just another storage closet.

They stared.

She stared back.

A hand on her shoulder, but it was warm and soft and familiar. Too familiar.

She didn’t turn around. The redhead was saying something, but Allison was thinking about the liars and the thieves and the kidnappers piled like rats before her. Scratching at the walls, squeaking incessantly.

She pulled the trigger, but her gun only spat four bullets. She frowned, fumbling with the magazine release.

They screeched, clawing harder at the door. Some cried. Some wiped blood from their faces. Some covered their ears, squeezed their eyes shut.

She didn’t care.

When she squeezed the trigger again, she couldn’t stop. The hand on her shoulder jerked her violently, something yanking her pant leg, but she ignored them.

Too transfixed on the bodies that danced to her melody just like she’d imagined they would. Dancing to the _bang! bang! bang!_ Arms flailing, begging for more of that sweet, sweet harmony. Or begging for something at least, she couldn’t discern what over the deafening scratch of the needle on the record.

But soon, the song was over, and only when the wailing of the last person on the dancefloor petered out did Allison realize she was singing.

Soft and low, but it was singing.

She and Nate would have to go dancing again when she’d return home. Just pop a tape into the holoplayer and dance the night away. And they could teach Shaun to dance, too!

One woman left, tears dragging black mascara down her face, clawing at the corner.

Allison pulled her pistol, and lined the glowing dot over her head.

But the redhead grabbed her arms, disrupting her aim, and Allison’s brow furrowed. She was yelling at her, and it took Allison a few moments to understand the issue: the woman probably wanted to dance, too.

The redhead didn’t let go, though; some people _never_ knew when to let go. She heaved her away, and when she was free to play, she readied the music. The woman’s eyes widened in excited anticipation.

She plucked a snappy rhythm with her index, whistled a merry tune, and the woman’s stomach rippled with how hard she danced. She slid to the floor, exhausted, but still shuddered a tango and Allison played for her the whole way down.

The redhead was silent.

The mutt whined.

When she stooped to reload her pistol magazine, she had to move the box of cartridges because the blood pool expanded at such a rapid rate. Then, she swapped her rifle magazine, and walked forward to examine the door.

The door was cut vertically into two symmetrical sections that retracted back into the doorframe to the left and right when it opened. There seemed to be deadbolts at each of the edges where the two parts met in the middle, and the two pieces were magnetically sealed together.

She’d prepared for this; she retrieved a pulse mine from her gear and laid it at the floor, pressing a button and arming it. Then, she stepped a good distance away, and her companions had stepped back the moment they’d recognized what the mine was.

Now she needed something large enough to trip the proximity sensor. She snatched up a laser gun from a dead synth and tossed it. A loud buzz; rather anticlimactic, but now it was time to see if it had worked.

She pulled two breaching charges from a pouch on her lower back, and placed the putty at the middle top and middle bottom to blow out the deadbolts. She retreated to the same spot, flipped the safety shield off the clunky detonator, and pressed the button.

The charges boomed loudly through the room, and to Allison’s convenience, the explosions had not only blown out the deadbolts, but had blown out the whole door as well.

As Allison approached, she glimpsed a shimmer through the black smoke. She pulled the pin on a pulse grenade, let the fuse burn down, and then tossed it through the doorway. The black robe of a Courser revealed itself, and she sprinted forward through the plume, firing three times and knocking it off balance.

But when she launched herself through the doorway into the circular room, she discovered that it wasn’t just one Courser.

There were four, in fact. Two to the left and one to the right that she hadn’t seen through the doorway. A defensive semicircle, all wondering why their camouflage had failed, and if they hadn’t all been inspecting their uniforms, she’d be dead now.

There was no time to line up a shot; she had to act.

She rushed the farthest left, a brunette, and chanced two shots at the head of the Courser to the right of him, a blonde, but he dodged.

Brunette raised his weapon to fire, but at the last possible moment, she reached out with her left hand, grabbed the muzzle, and pushed it skyward where two shots snapped off harmlessly at the ceiling. Simultaneously, she brought her rifle around low with her right and pulled the trigger.

The bullet punched through his foot, and he dropped to a knee, vulnerable for a point-blank headshot.

But she’d spied Blondie readying for a point-blank headshot of his own out of her peripheral, and, still controlling Brunette’s gun with her left hand, she coiled, and snapped her leg in a high kick. Blondie’s weapon discharged, but it flew harmlessly out of his hand.

By now, the man she’d shot through the door, completely bald, had regained his footing, and was circling around Blondie to get a good shot.

The redhead had put a blast of buckshot into the stomach of the Courser to the far right, so Allison only had three Courser’s to deal with.

_Only_ three Coursers. She would’ve laughed, or more likely chuckled, but the time was too urgent.

So instead of chuckle, she raised her rifle from the hip and shot the unarmed Blondie’s shoulder. It didn’t penetrate because their ballistic weave was top quality, but it did exactly what she’d intended; it hit him in such a way that it stumbled him to the right, disrupting Baldie’s line of fire.

She turned to her left, released Brunette’s gun, grabbed her rifle in both hands, and smacked him across the temple. Footsteps behind, and she knew without looking that Blondie was trying to grab her.

She pivoted clockwise, whipping her rifle around at head-height, and directed all her momentum into one colossal strike that crunched Blondies nose with the butt of her gun and sent him reeling back into Baldie behind him.

She snapped left, aimed at the back of Brunette’s head, and fired. She didn’t stay to watch his head lurch and his body collapse.

When she turned around, Blondie had thrown himself at her, snarling like a rabid dog, but the only dog around was clinging to the Courser the redhead was dealing with.

Blondie’s fingers wrapped around the barrel and the butt of her gun, but she was stronger than she looked, and they were locked in a competition of strength. However, Allison didn’t have time to grunt and struggle over the rifle, because Baldie was about to shoot her.

Suddenly, she slackened, the absence of force staggering Blondie, and then she used her forehead to strike his nose. It was surprisingly effective, agitating the already-crushed cartilage in his obnoxiously large snout, but he still didn’t relinquish her rifle.

So she lashed out at his throat with her right fist, and that did the trick. Reflexively, his hands released to scrabble at his windpipe, and she yanked the rifle away.

She leaned right around Blondie’s body and fired a round in Baldie’s shin. He cursed and fell onto his side, dazed.

Blondie recovered, but Allison smacked him across the temple with her rifle butt and he stumbled to the left.

She stepped past Blondie, shouldered her rifle, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet passed clean through Baldie’s head, a jot of scarlet across the floor, and his head lolled limply.

Blondie was already on her when she turned to face him, struggling at her rifle again, and it was so mundane that she briefly glanced across the room.

Tall and circular was a common theme among the Institute, but this was the tallest of all, soaring stories high. A raised, outer ring was sectioned into four quadrants by four towers, and all the quadrants emptied via easy stairways into the center where a glass elevator rose and fell at the Director’s whim. They battled on the southern quadrant.

And as she pushed and strained, she glanced over Blondie’s shoulder four synths approaching up the stairway. The redhead and the mutt still clashed with the other Courser, so it seemed Allison would need to take matters into her own hands.

It was quick, dirty, and sudden; she stepped forward and kneed Blondie in his testicles, and his eyes bulged, his teeth grinding, and he leaned over just slightly. Anyone else, and they’d be on the floor writhing in pain. But he was a Courser, a genetically engineered superhuman bred to kill, so it’s strength only faltered.

However, that was still enough. Enough for her to unholster her handgun with her right, and pistol-whip him across the temple. His strength faltered dramatically, and she aimed over his shoulder and fired.

The first synth’s foot had only brushed against the highest step when it took two 10 millimeter rounds through its face.

The second was mere steps behind it; a slight shift, and she squeezed the trigger twice. The first bullet lodged in its gut, and the second hit its upper torso, and she would’ve fired a third to finish it off.

But Blondie was a Courser, a genetically engineered superhuman bred to kill, and he was already in fighting form. He’d grabbed her weapon arm before she’d realized he was recovered, twisted around, and threw her over his shoulder.

Unfortunately for him, Allison was fast both on her feet and off, and as her toes left the ground, she wrapped her left arm around his throat and locked her legs around his waist. He tried to cancel the move once he’d figured out her counter, tried to reach out and stop himself from going head over heels but it was too late; their combined momentum was too much for even a Courser to handle and they rolled forward.

Rolled until they were sitting upright at the top of the stairs, but now she had a human shield in her lap. Without hesitation, she aimed and fired.

The synths were close, no more than ten steps down, but Blondie was wriggling and her accuracy suffered for it.

Two in the synth on the right: one through its shoulder and one through its neck. They were prototype synths, a cross between a Gen II and a Gen III, so when the bullet passed through its neck, black blood spattered against the stairs.

Three in the synth on the left: one decent shot through its chest, one that went wide and pierced through the “flesh” of its shoulder, and one lucky shot that brained the bastard.

Blondie’s hands fumbled for her gun, as expected, and rather than play the game of strength again, she took his chin in her left hand twisted. The crunch was audible and satisfying, and she shoved him down the stairs. The decline was soft, though, so he only rolled seven steps or so, then skidded to a halt.

To her amazement- and annoyance- the redhead and the mutt were still locked in a duel with the final Courser. Allison figured the redhead’s stamina was impressive if she could push through the pain of a black eye, a badly bloodied nose, a lip split in several places, and a bruised rib or two if the way she hunched indicated anything.

But the Courser was in much worse shape, scarlet dripping from the scattered buckshot that’d punched through his jacket and blood pouring down his cheek where it looked like he’d been mauled by a dog.

And when she saw the mutt’s growling maw was doused in red, she supposed that was exactly what happened.

The Courser loomed over them, the redhead desperately scurrying away on her rump while the mutt took a defiant stand between them to defend her. He walked toward her, weapon nowhere in sight.

Then the redhead pulled a revolver from her waistband and fired at his face.

The Courser was too smart for that, though, raising his arm in front of his face and ducking his head. The revolver was high caliber, as indicated by the decibels and the fact that the bullets punched through his ballistic weave anyways.

Past one layer of ballistic weave, at least, and when the redhead saw that the Courser only grit his teeth in response to five bullets lodged in his triceps, Allison spied the first signs of panic in her eyes.

That was when Allison decided to step in.

She could spare a bullet; he was severely wounded, so she could kill him in close quarters with relative ease. A punch to his bleeding gut and he’d keel over, and then she’d place her hands on his chin and the rear of his cranium, and a twist would end it.

Then a bolt zoomed past, and when she glanced behind her, there were multiple synths en route to their position. No time for needless effort.

She put the muzzle to the back of his skull and pulled the trigger. He crumpled like a man without a skeleton, and the redhead appeared… shocked and bewildered, and trying to hide them behind false arrogance.

There was minimal viable cover, a tree or two in the gardens bordering the base of the towers, and they lent them a small bit of coverage while Allison decided what to do. The area was open and clear, and there were plenty of synths to fill the floor. She could retreat through the smoking entrance…

… The display on her Pipboy ignited at the press of a button, an intricate jumble of green lines that somewhat resembled a map of the room. She turned a dial one click down, and now a new room was displayed. A room below them, accessible only by the elevator. That was their destination.

That was the route to Shaun. She was so close, a short walk and an elevator ride away.

Allison wasn’t running away. She’d never be able to look Nate in the eye. She’d never be able to look herself in the eye.

No; the smoking door didn’t exist to her. The only path was forward, toward the elevator. Forward through the army of Synths, but she’d walk through hell to get Shaun back, kill the Devil’s army with her bare hands if she had to.

But she didn’t _just_ have her bare hands; she had grenades and guns and knives. And a mother’s furious wrath.

The only path was forward.

There were five of them on the stairs below, more on the lower rink, and even more filtering down the staircases from the western and eastern quadrants. The stock tight to her squared shoulders, she waltzed forward on the balls of her toes.

Two through the face of the closest, black tar spattering the white uniforms of those behind it.

Swivel to the left and pick off the rest on the stairs in one sweeping arc to the right.

Two into the leftmost at the bottom of the stairs.

Two through the heart of the next synth to the right.

One through the lower chest and one through the neck of the next, and the two brass shells from her first volley were just tinkling against the floor.

Two through the heart of the next.

A beam struck her chest, but her armor absorbed it.

One through the chest of the final, because she was halfway down the stairs, now, and the lower ring was packed. It stumbled and almost fell backward, but she reached out and caught him by the shoulder. Head ducked, she hid behind its trembling figure and took the steps two at a time.

The moment she was on flat ground, she shoved the synth left, swiveled right, and snapped between targets, one trigger pull each.

Six heads jerked, bodies trembled, and black brains peppered inanimate faces before they, too were struck with a bullet. The gunshots were rapid and rhythmic, and the moment the last synthetic scalp exploded into black before her, she brought her rifle around to the left.

The baton hit her square in the jaw and she twirled with the momentum, dropping to a crouch, and rounding about to point the rifle up under its chin. She fired once, and stood.

Four more in front of her, three strides away, two with batons, one with a laser pistol, one with a rifle.

She aimed for the leftmost gunman, pulled the trigger, then whipped right and fired again.

The two synths with the batons stepped past their tumbling comrades, and she aimed and pulled the trigger-.

_Click!_

She dropped the rifle immediately, and stepped towards the closer of the two. She intercepted its strike at its wrist, and with an iron grip, she turned, bent over, and threw it over her shoulders. Then her hand whipped her pistol from its holster, pointed it behind her at the synth with baton poised to strike and, with a wayward glance, fired three times. All three struck its gut, and it fought to stay standing.

To the synth she’d body slammed, she fired once, hot black sprinkling her face, and then she stood, turned to the synth with holes in its stomach, and give it one more between the eyes.

 As it fell, a laser bolted past her face, past her foot, and one struck her thigh. She assumed her thigh guard reflected it because she didn’t feel the pain, or maybe she was too focused on finding the synths that’d shot her.

When she found them, a group of them atop the outer ring just in front of her- the western quadrant-, she huddled and fired through a barrage of blue.

Two for the farthest left, who bowed graciously for the gift and tumbled down the stairs.

A step right, and two for the middle man, whose armor couldn’t stop the bullets, and he gallivanted after his falling friend.

A step forward and a bolt grazed her hipbone, and she returned fire on the last synth on the stairs, two puffs of black erupting from his torso.

But it wasn’t the last; there was one more cowering behind the tree to the far right of the quadrant, and it pegged her twice in the gut. The higher beam bounced off her reflective plating, but the lower seared through her stomach.

She grimaced, too high on adrenaline to notice too much, and fired three shots until the trigger clicked. The first struck the tree, the shrapnel splintering wood into its eyes, and it inadvertently stumbled into the final two bullets that punched through its torso.

She swapped the magazines and thumbed the slide release.

Footsteps and mechanical whirring to the right.

She crouched on instinct, a sizzling shotgun of beams soaring overhead, turned right and fired.

The synth took a bullet to the crotch but didn’t flinch, just correcting its aim, but she’d already pulled the trigger. It staggered away and Allison snapped to her feet, pulled the trigger twice, and the two synths rounding the elevator clutched at their spurting throats and collapsed.

She glanced right, back towards the southern quadrant, and stared down the barrel of a laser rifle a yard away from her face.

Allison dodged under, the bolt missing her ponytail by a few inches, and she fired a bullet through its knee. As it dropped to the ground, she stood up and put a bullet through the mouth of the mannequin behind it. Then, she aimed at the synth on the floor, and squeezed the trigger.

Through the glass elevator shaft, she saw an explosion knock a synth off its feet in the eastern quadrant, the mutt dragging another by the arm across the floor while the redhead stepped on its chest and reduced its head to a sticky pulp.

The north was the last quadrant left: four on the stairs, and four up above. Weapon raised and sights aligned, she stepped around the elevator shaft.

Two of them stepped off the stairs to greet her, and she fired a bullet through their foreheads. She shrugged past them, profile hunched as lasers chased her up the stairs. Halfway up were the next two, and as she launched herself over the first few steps, she planted one through the left synth’s chest and one through its neck.

The right synth was a special order: one bullet shattering each shoulder, and her gun was out of bullets then, so she leapt the last few steps to stand behind her defenseless meat shield while potshots fried the air around her.

She flipped the empty magazine away, not particularly concerned where it landed, and the moment she’d flipped the slide release, she leaned left to shoot. The two leftmost, one in clear view and one behind a railing, were her main concern because they had the best angle on her.

Once through the farther’s chest, once through the closer’s throat.

She leaned right, put a bullet through the farther’s chest, but when she leaned around to fire at the last synth that stood at the top of the stairs, a beam nearly blasted her head off. So, being the problem solver she was, she took two steps back, approximated where the synth stood behind her shield idling uselessly, and squeezed off four shots.

Four bullets pierced through one body and three buried themselves in the second, and while the shield collapsed instantly, the final synth remained on its feet for an unsteady moment or so. But it, too, fell like the rest.

Like the rest of the bodies in the room, because that’s all there were now. Bodies.

The redhead’s battle continued in the eastern quadrant, but Allison imagined that would end soon.

A boom, and then all was quiet. No crackle of lasers. No gunshots. No explosions. Just a loud ringing in her ear, and a laser wound buzzing in her stomach

The elevator beeped, the door opening, and her heart skipped a beat. Shaun was only a few steps away.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait had to sit down. It was too much, too fast, and she was reeling.

Allison was in the elevator by the time Cait was turned around looking for her. She didn’t say anything, didn’t throw a glance her way, didn’t stop and make sure Cait was alright like she always had after a big, bad brawl. She just picked up her rifle, punched the red button, and stepped through the door.

She didn’t even say “Goodbye.”

She might never see her again, for all she knew. The last time she’d disappeared to find Shaun, Cait hadn’t even glimpsed her for two months.

She had to tell herself this wasn’t goodbye. Just an elevator ride away; that was as far as she was going. Just an elevator ride away.

Dogmeat whined, sitting in front of the elevator doors, expectantly staring ahead.

“She ain’t comin’ back that way, Dogmeat.” And look at her, talking to the dog.

At least she wasn’t singing while she mowed down a crowd of lab coats. That gave her the shivers.

Her lip throbbed, and her eye had swollen shut. Her fingers tenderly massaged her nose, and to her relief, she couldn’t feel a break. Still hurt like a fucking sledgehammer smacked her, but she could deal with the pain. It was her rib that worried her; she was coughing up blood, and every breath was painful and struggled.

All from that one, _fucking_ Courser.

Cait was never outmatched. It was a fact of life: no single man or woman could throw fisticuffs at Cait and expect to win. Like how the rain always smelled like piss, or how the dealers of Diamond City’s back alleys always marked everything up four-hundred percent. It was just something that was.

But that fucking Courser… There really was nothing as sobering as a punch to the face so fast, she couldn’t even see it.

And then, of course, while Cait needed the dog to help her fight just one of them, Allison was off in the corner killing _three_ at a time. Her opinions on Vault Dwellers had never changed so fast.

Her ribs ached, and when she set them one at a time, Dogmeat’s head swiveled toward the grunting and the popping. She jammed the needle into her bicep, and when the syringe had emptied, she tossed it away.

The clatter carried through the room, the only sound in a silence so void of anything, of any distant hum or thump of a heartbeat, that she was uncomfortable. Every room Cait had seen that was this massive would be overflowing with sound, be it the cheer of fans or the raucous of an announcer’s penetrating voice detailing the bare-knuckled action in the center ring.

Instead, there was nothing but Cait watching the gashes on her knuckles gradually suture themselves closed. When they’d healed, she stared up at the ceiling, where a halo of glass tubes bridged the peaks of each tower together.

No gunfire, so she assumed all was well enough.

Or Allison was dead, but that was too terrifying to think of.

She busied herself with a scavenger hunt: find her guns, because they weren’t on her person. There were so many bodies, she had to watch her footing, and she briefly wondered if the room was a scrapyard of the site of a massacre.

Her superficial knowledge of machines said that they didn’t bleed, but the floor was slick with black blood. It leaked from the carcasses suspended on the stairs, tar cascading down the pristine, white steps and pooling at the bottom. Cait knew which kills were her kills based on the wounds; bodies with neat punctures through their heart or their foreheads- or most of the bodies there- were Allison’s, whereas the bashed skulls and the exploded stomachs and the torso’s missing limbs were of her own signature.

Her bat was slick with blood in a cluster of corpses up top, and she wiped it clean on a shirt speckled with black. The shotgun lay where she’d thrown it, and after she’d stuffed it into its holster, she hobbled to the northern quadrant for her revolver.

Then, she trudged over to the elevator and eased onto her butt, because what else did she have to do?

The sharp snap of a laser gun firing drifted down from above, and she glanced up to where Dogmeat’s alert ears had perked. Two more laser shots echoed, blue pulsing twice from the halo high above.

She flicked the release lever on her shotgun, and the empty, plastic shells hopped from the breech. Two new shells slipped into the chamber, and she set it aside.

Another laser shot, another pulse of blue from above, and Dogmeat whimpered and scratched at the floor.

The empty brass pitter-pattered against the floor, and Cait mindlessly thumbed fresh shells into her revolver.

One boom that was so loud, it could only have been Allison’s 10 gage. Then another boom when she emptied the other barrel.

Cait bit her lip, fingers tightening anxiously around her weapon.

 

**ooooo**

 

Pain suited X6. Then again, anything other than brooding malevolence would’ve been a welcome change, but it was too late for anything else.

This was _his_ fault. The tears in her eyes, Nathan’s demise, Shaun…

This was all his fault. He’d taken everything from her, and it was all his fault.

She’d put a blast through his stomach, and now he was leaning against the wall, pain over his face while he struggled for a grip on the glass when his hands were slippery with blood.

It was nothing compared to the pain he’d caused her. The agony in her chest when she’d walked through the door into Shaun’s room and found him unconscious in his bed. When she’d discovered the cancer had crippled him, and he was on the last leg of his life. When she’d crawled into his bed because she wanted to hug him again, feel the warmth of her baby boy against her breast.

When she’d whispered a melody, and he’d snuggled closer.

When he died in her arms.

No, Allison would take a load of buckshot to the stomach any day to this pain lancing through her heart and the hot tears blurring her vision.

So she took X6’s leg in recompense, pointed the barrel at his knee and pulled the trigger.

A burst of red, and X6 shouted at the top of his lungs, hit the floor hard.

She reloaded with trembling fingers, glaring down at him while he clutched at the few, bloody ligaments that kept his leg to his body. He looked up and she could see his eyes because she’d broken his shades with her fist. And his nose. And his jaw.

This was all his fault.

He jumped when she fired again, but it was the glass wall beside him that received the buckshot.

This was all his fault.

She lifted him with two hands, lifted him from his collar like he was a sack of potatoes and not a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound hunk of muscle, and his eyes widened. Maybe in awe. Maybe in realization of what she was doing.

She didn’t care.

This was all his fault.

 

**ooooo**

 

The glass shattered, and someone dressed in black- a Courser- launched through the window. Cait watched him flail, watched the glittering glass tumble beside him, heard him holler all the way down.

She heard him hit the ground, too, that thump as he struck the dirt of the garden, and she saw him bounce. Cait’s gaze flitted upwards, and in the jagged hole, a woman with a mane of fire turned around and walked away.

Neither she nor Dogmeat rose; no one could’ve survived that fall. Not with the way the body bounced. Cait looked back to the elevator doors and wondered if this was the right place to wait.  

Gunfire erupted from above, and they both tracked the noise and the flashes of light as it gradually traced the halo.

 

**ooooo**

 

This was their fault. This was all their fault.

They ran from her, scientists, the liars, the kidnappers, _the killers_. They ran from her like cowards behind their synth sentries, but they couldn’t protect them. Bullets proved that, black staining the windows.

Allison plugged her in the back as she sprinted away. Red blossomed at the point of impact, and she clawed at the floor, streaking red across the pristine white. She twisted around when she heard Allison’s footsteps, threw a hand up.

“No-!” she spluttered, “No, please! Please!”

Her tears wouldn’t fool her. This was her fault.

She pulled the trigger and watched her body jerk. Pulled the trigger so hard she could break it, pulled until the gun stopped bucking and she was out of bullets.

This was their fault.

 

**ooooo**

 

There was screaming now. Shrill and human, not synths, and goosebumps spread across Cait’s skin. There was crying, too, unadulterated bawling and then automatic gunfire.

And then silence. Total silence, and Dogmeat’s ears twitched and Cait scanned the ceiling for more light.

More crying, but softer. So soft, Cait could barely hear it, but it was there.

Then, silence for a long, long time.

Cait stood and walked among the bodies and Dogmeat followed her, gaze sweeping over the same mannequin face countless times, but the distraction wasn’t great enough. Her ears strained for sudden gunshots, for the tinkle of broken glass, for a muffled boom, but she heard no signs of life.

Dogmeat’s ears perked. Cait glanced over her shoulder. The elevator was descending, and Allison’s red head of hair looked the other way. It stopped at their level, and the unlikely duo scurried over the open door.

It was only when Cait stepped into the elevator that she noticed the body in her arms. Wrapped in a white bedsheet, so Cait couldn’t see their face, but she knew.

She knew by the dead silence in the elevator who it was. The haggard breathing, the despondency. Cait knew who it was.

There was quiet between all of them. Even Dogmeat shut his trap so they didn’t have to listen to his insufferable panting.

Cait bit her lip.

“Alli, I…”

No response.

Cait put a cautious hand on her shoulder.

Allison sobbed once, bowed her head, and Cait watched her ponytail bob.

Then she straightened herself, as if she remembered she wasn’t alone, sniffed.

“Alli…”

No response still, and Cait yearned to leave her hand on her shoulder and feel her warmth, but now as not the time. Now was the time for respect.

Allison drew in a haggard breath.

“Alli, darlin’…”

“Top floor.”

“What?” Cait asked, because it sounded like Allison hadn’t used her voice in years and it’d came out garbled.

“Top floor,” she said, more resolute but still… lost.

Cait frowned. “That’s the relay room.”

Silence was her answer.

“Don’t you, uh…” Cait trailed off, unsure of how to say it with a measure of class because class and sensitivity weren’t her thing. “Don’t ya wanna blow this place sky high?”

“ _Top floor_.”

Cait nodded, but Allison couldn’t see it. “Ok. Top floor,” and she turned and pushed the button. They soared upward, the flawless polish of the Institute zooming by.

Dogmeat padded to his master’s side and sat himself down, leaning affectionately against her calf.

Allison didn’t react.

Cait’s stomach flopped when they reached the apex, but it wasn’t because the elevator was slowing to a stop. The door hissed open, and Allison ambled into the relay room on sedated legs, passing the terminal, and walking into the relay.

Allison knelt, but she didn’t let go of the body immediately. From her place outside the relay, Cait could see her whisper something where its ear would be, rocking it back and forth. She buried her face in his chest, gripped it with white fingers, and wept into the cloth for an eternity.

But she eventually lay the body to the floor with a gentleness Cait hadn’t seen anywhere else.

Then she walked to the control panel and inserted a holotape. She clacked a few keys, pressed a button, and watched with puffy eyes as the body disappeared in a blink of blue.

“You next,” Allison said.

“Alright.” She got to the doorway, and threw a glance over her shoulder. “I love ya, darlin’.”

The gaze she received was forlorn and melancholy, and Cait stepped into the relay. Allison clacked at the keys.

The walls hummed, the ceiling crackled, and Cait exploded in a flash of blue.

 

**ooooo**

 

The wind played with her hair like a marionette on strings, tossing it about, and when Dogmeat flashed into existence on the balcony of the Mass Fusion tower, he didn’t seem too pleased to have his fur violently ruffled either.

The view was spectacular, sunlight reflecting from panes of glass and a thin blanket of fog crawling through the trees of the countryside. Cait was never one to admire a gorgeous view, unless it was the curves of a sumptuous dame, but this was an exception.

Another blue flash, and the floor behind her creaked with the weight of another person.

“Gorgeous,” she said, fingers subtly searching for Allison’s between them.

Nothing. She could’ve whispered something and Cait wouldn’t have heard over the wind.

“Where’s, uh… Where’s, um…” Cait asked awkwardly when she noted his absence.

“Home.”

Cait nodded and crossed her arms over her chest to keep them where she could control them, because when she glanced Allison’s tears dripping down her cheeks and her poor attempts at holding her infamously stony face, Cait wanted to hug her. To wrap her arms around her neck and hold her close like Allison had done for Cait so many times. To tell her everything was going to be okay, and croon a sweet melody that’d bring all the tears out.

But she didn’t. Instead, she stood there and listened to Allison struggle to breath at a steady pace.

“This the end?” Cait asked. “We goin’ home, now?”

An imperceptible nod.

And then Cait glimpsed the detonator in Allison’s hand, and she frowned. “I thought we weren’t blowin’ ‘em to kingdom come?”

“We’re not.”

She raised the detonator, and pressed the button.

Nothing happened. Nothing Cait saw during her scan of the C.I.T. anyways. She was going to ask what the button was for, but Allison mumbled something.

“What?”

“No one gets out,” she said, her eyes freezing over, her tone cold as ice. Petrifying into a face of stone. “No one gets out.”

And as Allison turned and walked away from the railing, it dawned on Cait:

Allison had blown up the relay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a ton of action. Tell me what you guys thought about it, and I'll see you all next chapter.


	16. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s been over a month since I’ve updated, and I have to give you all an apology. I was going pretty consistently there for a few chapters, but then I obviously didn’t. As summer ends, I’ll be much busier and I won’t be able to crank out the chapters like I used to be able to, but I hope you all understand. Please enjoy!

The bundle she carried wasn’t heavy, but it weighed a thousand tons in her arms. The distance wasn’t far, but her legs ached like she’d walked a thousand miles. The linen was smooth and cool in her hands, but there was something on it that clung to her hands so she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let go.

She’d walked the distance from the house to the hill. She’d picked a spot just beside Nathan and she’d dug a deep grave. She’d prayed to heaven and she’d prayed to hell, and she’d prayed to everywhere in between. But when she’d knelt at the edge of that hole with the bundle in her arms and leaned out to let him down to his final place of resting, she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let go.

Even now, with his body in her arms and the mound of Nate’s grave at her back, she couldn’t let go of that hope that she’d harbored for a long, long time. That dream that she’d kick down the door with Shaun in her arms and Nate would greet them at the welcome mat and they’d live just like nothing had ever happened. Even now, when their bodies were before her to weep upon, she couldn’t let go of that dream. She couldn’t let go.

But she had to. She had to let go. It was the last thing she had left, and she had to let it go.

The linen was soft on her face, smelled of medicine and a broken promise, but she breathed it in like it was lilacs and roses. And butterflies. And sunshine. She didn’t know what butterflies or sunshine smelled like, but she was certain it was something like Shaun.

She let go.

It was difficult, tears wrenched from her eyes like her heart was from her chest, but the cool linen finally slipped through her fingers. She stared at him, reached down to push away the blanket so she could see his face one last time, but she stopped herself because she had to let go. She had to let go.

Her child, her son, her little baby boy with rosy cheeks.

She cringed when she tossed the first shovelful of soil over the bundle. She cringed when she tossed the second, and the third, and the fourth. Shovelful by shovelful, the white linen disappeared beneath spattered soil, and when the bundle vanished entirely, she couldn’t breathe.

She had to let go.

The shovel fell to the fresh mound of earth, and so did she. Threw herself over the mound of earth and cried, and her tears soaked through the soil and down to his body. She was caked in dirt when she stood.

There was no cross. She would make one when she returned to the house.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison didn’t spare Cait a passing glance when she walked through the front door. She was covered in dirt and sweat and was slightly sunburned at the nape of her neck, and when Cait trailed a finger down the injury to inspect its severity, Allison whipped around like Cait had just sucker punched her.

Cait opened her mouth to explain herself, but the look Allison gave her made her shrivel up. It wasn’t even hateful, just disdainful. Like Cait was an annoyance. No trace of how Alli used to look at her with stars in her eyes and a worshipful reverence; the stars were extinguished and she’d renounced her faith some time ago.

“Alli…” Cait said, but Allison wasn’t looking her way anymore. She was washing her hands in the sink, and when she was done with that, she stared out the window.

“Alli?” Cait asked, stepping forward.

Allison turned her head, and a little bit of hope spiked in her chest. But then she said, “Codsworth, prepare dinner,” and the flame was pinched out.

Food was tasteless and water was bitter, and when it hit her roiling stomach, it almost came back up. Dogmeat begged like he usually did, and this time, Cait was inclined to give him her scraps; he hadn’t been fed yet, and Codsworth was off doing his thing.

Cait didn’t see Allison again until the sun was dipping below the horizon. She met her with sweaty palms and a sliver of hope, because there was something there other than nothing. Her head was bowed and she was trudging, and when Cait opened the door and Allison tried to brush past, Cait stopped her.

“Alli?”

She sobbed once, face hidden behind a curtain of her red hair, and she didn’t immediately break away.

“Alli, darlin’, are you okay?” Cait asked with worry garbling her words, tugging so she could see her face but she wouldn’t turn around.

She sniffed once, looked away, then sobbed again. Cait lay a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Or tried to, because Allison walked away just as Cait raised her hand, leaving her foolishly clawing at the air. She heard her walk down the hall, dragging her feet, and then the door to their bedroom closed. Then the sobbing started.

Real sobbing, unrestrained and choked with grief. And all Cait could do about it was knock on the door and insist she open it. And when that didn’t happen, Cait cried too, because she felt worthless on the other side of the door. Because Allison was shutting her out, and Cait didn’t know what to do.

The door only opened when the night had completely claimed the Commonwealth, and by that time, Cait was already sleeping on the couch. She poked her head up; the bathroom light was on. Minutes passed, and Allison emerged in her underwear, and without a word, she disappeared into their room again.

She didn’t close the door, and Cait tried her luck. Her approach was tentative, but when she looked through the doorway, the lights were off and her lover was on the other side of the bed facing the wall. Allison didn’t react to the shift of the mattress when Cait clambered on. She didn’t react when Cait pulled the covers up to her chin. She didn’t react when Cait slid over, snaked a hand around her stomach, and burrowed her face into her hair.

“I’ll love you forever, my darlin’ sunshine,” she whispered.

Allison didn’t react.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait awoke to a cold, lonely bed. Her scent lingered, and Cait pressed her nose into the sheets and breathed. It was calming to a degree, not nearly so much as if her lover were there with her, but she had to take what she could.

“Hey, Codsy!” she said, entering the living room to find it empty, “Where’s Alli?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, mum,” he said, and she tried to quell the first licks of panic in her gut. “She romped out the door sometime before sunrise and hasn’t been back since.”

Cait had to sit down. Her face in her hands, she forced herself to stay calm. Allison had gone missing for two months without contact, and she’d stayed alive through the whole of it. She’d be just fine. She’d be okay.

But Allison wasn’t in her right mind. Grief did things to people, made them act weird, made them reckless, made them make choices they wouldn’t usually make. Allison could be needlessly putting herself in danger. Hell, she could be dying in a ditch while Cait sat there on the couch and did nothing, calling out for help but no one was there, calling out her name…

Cait couldn’t think about that. If she did, she’d go mad herself.

So she focused on the dark clouds outside, and on how it was just starting to rain.

 

**ooooo**

 

The wonderful thing about rain was that nobody knows who’s crying. The only person that could care was lying a few feet away, and she doubted the man was focused more on her than clotting the hole through his neck.

Anger.

It’d woken her up, gasping because the fire in her veins was burning up all the air in her lungs. It wouldn’t go away, not when she breathed and thought of good things because the only good thing she could think of was Nate. And Shaun.

And God fucking _dammit_ , why did they have to die? Why couldn’t it have been her? Why couldn’t that bastard have opened up her pod and put a bullet through her skull? Why couldn’t it be her laying on a stiff bed in a bright room, struggling to breathe because cancer had eaten her lungs?

Why did she have live and suffer their loss? Why? Why, why, why, why, why…

The question tore her insides to shreds, stabbed her heart over and over with a sharp knife until she’d risen from her bed. Until she’d grabbed her gun and pushed through the front door, walking, jogging, running, sprinting to dull the pain, but it didn’t work.

Until she took a man’s life, because it distracted her from her misery. It worked, but only for a moment. A fleeting moment where she was free from pain and full of adrenaline, and she knew she needed more.

And that was how she got to where she was now.

On her knees amidst an entire camp full of bodies. Rain soaking her hair, mud soaking her jeans, blood soaking her hands but the rain was washing it off now.

She cried. Head bowed, empty gun clutched in her quivering hand, she cried because it hurt. Because it worked but only for a second, only for a moment was the pain gone, but then it returned in spades. No one else to kill, no one else to relieve the pain, and it hurt so fucking much.

She had nothing now, not even bullets. She had nothing but a constant pain, a jabbing agony skewering her chest, an empty hole that ached in the absence of someone wonderful and no way to assuage it.

But Death assuaged it. Death made it go away- only for a moment- but a moment free from this torment was worth anything.

She needed more bodies.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison returned two weeks later, and Cait was ready to give her a shiner until she saw the blood on her clothes. All over her shirt, up her pant legs, on her shoes, on her skin, and she tracked it across the carpet where she walked. And there was a fire in her eyes, a fatal edge to the glare that razed over everything and everyone.

Cait called out to her.

She didn’t respond, just stalked away to their room.

Cait called out again.

She mumbled something, but didn’t otherwise answer.

Cait yelled at her, shouted at the top of her lungs, released all of her frustrations in one burst.

Allison stopped. Allison turned. Allison glared at her with so much ferocity and so much balled-up fury that for a second, just a second, Cait feared for her life. Backing away because this blood-covered maniac, this _demon_ wearing Allison’s skin couldn’t possibly be her lover.

But Allison turned away just when it looked like she would pounce, and she returned to the lonely confines of their room. The door didn’t open that night, and Cait slept on the couch.

When she awoke, Allison was gone again.

 

**ooooo**

 

The smooth curvature of trigger pressed against her finger, the shudder of the recoil kicking the sights out of alignment, the brief cloud of burning orange unfurling from the muzzle, the teeth-shattering kaboom that echoed for miles; it all felt so good. Like a fine dessert from a ritzy restaurant, garnished with the quiet tinkle of brass clattering against the concrete floor.

But it only lasted for a moment. The flavor waning, the satisfaction of the kill petering away, the numbness that adrenaline lent her slowly disappearing. It lasted only for a moment.

So she fired again, pulled the trigger, felt the recoil, watched the muzzle flash, listened to the crack of the gunshot. Another spurt of blood vaporizing in thin air, another spasm from the dead man still standing. He winced as she sighed in ecstasy, felt the excitement pump through her veins as the blood left his.

She fired again because she was afraid of what happened between bursts, terrified of the lull between explosions, and she took in all the peace his demise caused.

She fired again because it hurt when she wasn’t, because he was still barely standing and she’d squeeze every last drop from him that she could.

She fired again and he fell to his knees, his torso a block of swiss cheese bleeding from everywhere he could bleed from.

She fired again and a bolt of blood erupted from his throat, bubbling and squelching with his desperate attempts to breathe despite the hole through his neck.

She fired again, but she didn’t because the gun was empty. She panicked because the gun was empty, because the high was receding and the pain was already prickling at her heart and wrenching tears from her eyes, because the burning fury was eating her up and she needed more bullets to shoot.

She thumbed the magazine release lever, scrabbled at a fresh magazine from her belt, and tried to shove it in but her hand was trembling so badly that she fumbled and dropped it. But the fury was burning her and she needed to kill something or it would overwhelm her.

She dove for his gun, a shitty amalgamation of pipes and wood and screws but it had bullets. She took the rifle into her hands just as two more raiders rounded the corner, and she didn’t even look down the sights; she just pulled the trigger and pulled the trigger and pulled the trigger.

A shoulder exploded into chunks of red, gory flesh, the arm hanging limply while the man howled. A kneecap erupted, a lung popped, a kidney burst, blood spattering the ground as she pulled the trigger again and again. They shook wildly, bullets punching straight through their flesh and muscles and bones and painting their scarlet all over the floor, leaking from their mouths and their noses and the gaping holes pocked all over their bodies.

And it was incredible because it was a moment of pure bliss, of a world where it didn’t ache to live; a moment of normalcy. A moment free of rage and burning hatred for everyone that took her life away from her.

But it was only a moment.

The moment was waning. The agony of loss was so painful it was crippling, and she tried to shoot harder, but the gun clicked. Not empty; the trigger was busted. Broken because in her state of desperate fury, she’d pulled too hard and now the spring was broken and she couldn’t shoot and her only outlet for the pain wasn’t working and she screeched.

It echoed louder than a gunshot through the brick tunnels, stirring the dead and the dying and the ones about to die.

They came and she ran to them, gunned them down in a volley of bloody violence, stinking corpses piling in the hallways while she wailed like a banshee. Wailed in pain, wailed in fury; it didn’t matter because they were dying and she was clinging to the absence they granted her.

Every trigger pull was a moment where she was Allison. The real Allison, not a thing parading around in the shell of Allison. Not something that had to kill to feel normal. Not something so consumed by rage, it ignored their cries of surrender and spat bullets through their skulls anyways. Every trigger pull a moment where the angry white noise in her ears disappeared.

But it was only a moment, and moments didn’t last forever.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison was only gone for a week and a half before she reappeared, and Cait was certain she hadn’t bathed once since the time she was away. Bathed in blood and flecks of gore that were starting to rot, even Dogmeat, the smelly mongrel, couldn’t go near without sneezing and visibly recoiling in her presence.

It was only a prompt from Codsworth about his sensors detecting unhealthy amounts of decaying flesh that convinced Allison to use the shower.

Cait wasn’t invited, and even though she’d expected it, it still hurt to be thrown aside like a dirty rag. She tried to occupy herself with other things, like booze and trying to read for fun again, but her thoughts always drifted back to the bathroom.

Eventually, she could hold back no more; she needed to be near her. Gone for almost a month and her lover hadn’t even touched her. So she packed up her booze and her comics and she plopped herself by the door with her back to the wall and she wondered how it ever got to this.

She wondered if it’d ever go back to the way things used to be. She wondered if she’d always have to force a hug just so she could have some skin-on-skin contact. She wondered if she’d ever kiss her again.

Her eyes were stinging and her throat was tight. She couldn’t do anything about her eyes, but she could do something her about throat, and she poured the medicine down her gullet until she was tearing up not from the pain of estrangement, but from the likely poisonous amount of alcohol searing her throat.

But she didn’t care, and she drank until she could blame how shitty she felt on the alcohol and not on her problems. Maybe she really was back in the good ol’ days.

A sweet sound, sweeter than honey, floated from behind the door, and Cait’s ears perked. A voice so dulcet, Cait’s eardrums ached, and she closed her eyes, opened her ears, and stopped breathing. Singing.

Cait felt like she hadn’t heard it in years, and suddenly the whiskey bottle in her hand couldn’t possibly be at blame as a single, crystal tear dripped down her cheek. So lovely.

But it was sad. Not about the sunshine, but about the silly rabbit caught in a trap, waiting for the sly fox to come by and eat it up. As the song ambled on with the grace of a dancer, the lyrics were more garbled, the harmony cracking, the tempo stuttering, and by the final stanza, there was only weeping.

Cait turned her head to the door.

“Alli?” she said with a heavier slur than she’d thought she’d have.

The weeping was steady, like a song, but the lyrics were more heartbreaking than any song Cait had heard.

“Alli, s’gonna be alright, darlin’,” Cait mumbled. “I’m here, sunshine. I’m here…”

She took another swig, squeezing her eyes shut as it charred her throat going down.

“S’all gonna be alright,” Cait said, but she didn’t know whether she was talking to Allison or herself. “Gonna be alright…”

Then, to convince herself, she drank herself into a deep, alcohol induced sleep. When she woke, she wasn’t sure what hurt more: the pounding headache, or the fact that Allison had disappeared again.

 

**ooooo**

 

It was a dumb idea, a ridiculous idea she’d concocted, but it was an idea. It had no basis in science, just the fact that something similar worked for Kellogg.

They said it used to be a theater, but Allison thought the Memory Den might’ve been a whorehouse at one point, what with the red velvet drapes, the leather couches for private viewing, and the headmistress all prettied up in a sleek, form-fitting jacket that displayed her bosom. It didn’t matter, though; all that mattered was the idea.

Doctor Amari stood on the stage clacking away at a computer, and Allison made straight for her.

Amari noticed Allison before she was halfway across the room. “Can I help you with something?”

Allison waited until she was close enough to hear her breathe before she spoke. She scanned the room for anyone that might be watching, and then she leaned in close. “Listen, I need to know something,” she said in a hushed.

Amari frowned. “What do you wish to know?”

“It’s dumb, I already know that, but I just need to know, okay?” she said, trying and failing to veil how desperate she was. “Please, I just need to know.”

“Then what do you want to know?”

Allison breathed in deeply; this idea was the only thing she could think of, and thus it was her only hope. With nervous twitches and a tapping foot, she said, “So I know what you do here. With the synths and all that, and wiping their brains and giving them clean slates.”

“How on earth-?” Amari said, glancing around for anyone that could’ve heard.

“The secret’s safe with me, alright? I just need to…” She breathed in again, her heart pounding. “I just need to know… Can you… is there any way you can… transfer a human mind into a synth’s? Specifically someone that’s already dead?”

Allison watched her face with rapt interest, studying the eyebrows raising in shock, the slight parting of the mouth, the host of unsaid questions in her eyes, and for a moment, that little spark in Allison’s heart was kindled as Amari delved into thoughtfulness.

But no. No, the look Amari gave her said it all. The frown, the pursed lips, the uncomfortable look in her eyes like that of a doctor about to deliver bad news.

“I’m afraid that without a living specimen, that outcome is unattainable.” Amari was still talking, but all the air had been sucked from Allison’s chest, and she braced herself on the table. “If the specimen were still living, then perhaps the results would be different.”

Her head was in her arms and she could barely breathe through the pain in her chest. The pain of disappointment, of finality, of hope being quashed like an ant beneath her unfeeling boot. Her final bit of faith had failed her, abandoned her on her own just like everyone else.

A new idea formed, but it didn’t inspire the kind of hope the last one had.

Allison raised her head, wiped her nose, and asked, “How much for a seat in one of the chairs?”

Amari looked at her knowingly for a moment.

Allison frowned. “What?”

Amari paused, and then said, “This one is free.”

Allison nodded. “Thank you,” and she sniffled and followed the doctor to a pod.

“Please, sit,” the Doctor said.

It was reasonably comfortable, a coat of slick leather over foam padding, and though Allison was large, she still fit. She reclined back, her head resting against a circular piece of metal with a ring of lightbulbs screwed around it, and she shrugged off the sense of unease that came with sitting in something resembling a casket.

“Relaxing is the most important part. If you don’t, the machine may not register your thoughts correctly, and all you’ll get is static,” the Doctor said, and Allison did as she was told. The pod closed shut, the television monitor hanging just before her face flickering to life.

“How do I choose the memories? Is it random?” Allison asked.

“You decide with your mind. Simply think of it and it will replay.” Amari clacked at some keys, and the pod hummed around her, the lights behind her head dully glowing. “Now look at the screen and relax. You’ll know when you’re in.”

Allison breathed deeply, posture limp and mind wary.

It was a tingle at first. In her fingers and her toes, but then it crawled up her hands and her feet and her arms and her legs, and then her torso disappeared to pins and needles. Something buzzed in her ears, and she tasted something metallic.

And then everything was gone in a blinding white.

Quiet. Totally quiet.

But there, a sound; a constant scraping, like wheels across concrete. A rhythmic tap, like footsteps. A pair of footsteps, then two pairs of footsteps. A bird chirping. Someone sighing.

The blinding white light was the sun, and after a moment, it waned and she could see.

She were in the park where Nate’s favorite hill was. The waves of waist-high grass were one hue of healthy green, recently trimmed to a uniform length, and footsteps scuffed the concrete path winding through the wide, green field. The air was clean and smelled of the great outdoors.

She’d forgotten how colorful everything was before the war.

The cobalt blue of the sky, the crisp cerulean of Blue Jays darting through the leafy trees, the emerald green of the grass. The bright white of the sun, the starched yellow of her pants and the cherry red of the playground all freshly painted and free of rust. The strawberry pink dress fluttering through the wind as the little girl giggled and laughed a charming symphony of notes, the blazing orange of the butterflies flitting about.

She was in the park, Nate walking beside her at a lazy pace while she pushed the stroller holding Shaun.

Nate and Shaun.

Allison couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t just a memory; they were there. She could smell them, could make out the stubble on Nate’s handsomely broad jawline, could see the crinkles beneath his eyes.

He looked at her and, oh God, she could see the silver flecks swimming in his eyes of crystal blue. Soft crystals with rounded edges but still possessing all the complexities of sculpted diamonds. Cool crystals not freezing cold but a gentle, thoughtful coolness that felt good against her skin on a hot summer day like this. Crystals so priceless, no single person on this world deserved to have them.

He looked at her and she saw him from the corner of her eye. She grinned, glancing over at him. “What?” she asked.

He looked down to her belly and back up to her face. “Nothing,” he shrugged in that easy way he always did, “It’s just weird seeing you without a baby bump.”

“Weird,” she said slyly, “or are you just grateful I’m attractive again?”

“You were always attractive, baby or not, but now,” he looked her up and down again, and he whistled provocatively, “now you’re _attractive_.”

She rolled her eyes.

They walked for a while, listening to the children playing and the birds chirping and the quiet commotion of the outdoors. Then they stopped, and Allison engaged the parking brakes on the stroller.

“I need to make sure Shaun’s still comfortable,” Allison said, and she walked around the side of the stroller and oh.

Oh.

He was so tiny, no bigger than her forearm, and when she unstrapped his seatbelt and picked him up, he wiggled. His plump, little cheeks and his little button nose and his little green eyes that stared at her with his little furrowed brow, like he was deciding who was responsible for disturbing his peace. The most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

He was warm and soft and she held him tightly to her bosom while he squirmed and nestled into her breast. And then Nate was there with a kind smile, and he stepped forward and wrapped his muscly arms around them and drew them in close. She rested her head against his collarbone, and he leaned his against her head, and Shaun closed his eyes, surrounded by warmth, and fell into peaceful sleep.

And then it all disappeared into white.

The buzzing returned, and the television displayed a black-and-white stand-by screen. The air smelled of rotting wood and incense attempting to cover up the rotting wood. She was alone.

A tear trailed down her cheek. Her jaw was hinged open, and her eyes were wide and shell-shocked. Everything tasted bittersweet.

The pain was gone now, but in its place was a longing. An intense longing for more that she couldn’t just ignore, for just one more minute in a familial embrace. One more minute of Shaun’s soft face pressed into her skin. One more minute of Nate’s gentle embrace.

She knew what she wanted before the pod had finished opening.

“More,” was all she could say because her throat was tight and dry. “Again,” she rasped.

Amari was hesitant, and Allison remembered her saying something about getting trapped in a cycle of memories but she didn’t care. She just wanted to see Shaun and Nate one last time, feel their skin, smell their scent.

Just one last time.

Allison threw her bag of caps at her feet. “Please,” she said with watery eyes. “Please.”

Amari looked to Allison, then to the caps at her feet, and then she sighed heavily.

“Alright. But only more time.”

They both knew that was a lie.

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait didn’t count the days that Allison was gone this time because she was too drunk to remember most of it. She was fairly certain it was shorter than her last two excursions.

Allison’s entrance was so quiet, Cait hadn’t known she was there at all until she’d stumbled into the living room and noticed something was off. Namely the chair stationed next to the bay window and Allison looking out. Cait squinted; when she was exceptionally wasted, she tended to misinterpret objects in their environment. One time, she’d mistaken an abnormally rusty toaster for a molerat.

But Allison wasn’t a molerat, and she wasn’t an illusion of the light. She was actually there.

“Alli?” Cait asked groggily, staggering forward a couple steps. “Alli? That you?”

No response. Like usual.

Cait’s fist balled in a drunken fury; her sober self was too afraid of driving her lover off to confront her, but her intoxicated self was too hurt to care. Before she knew what she was doing, she twisted back and hucked the empty bottle in her hand in Allison’s direction. It shattered noisily against the far wall, a shower of glass shards bouncing off the carpet.

Nothing. Not a peep, not a flinch; she sat in her chair, staring out the window.

“Fuckin’ say somethin’!” she shouted. “Anythin’! I don’t care if it’s just one bloody word, just fuckin’ _say somethin’!_ ”

It was like Cait didn’t exist. Dogmeat trotted over to her and licked her hand, but she was focused on Allison.

Cait snorted, shaking her head. “Fine,” she choked out. “Just fuckin’ sit there and stare at the goddamn window, see if I care…”

She wandered back to their room where she collapsed on the bed, stuffing her face with Allison’s pillow. It still smelled like her, still tasted like her when she breathed it in, and she pushed herself further into it to block out the pounding headache assaulting her temples. Even when she wasn’t there, Allison still had a way of soothing her pain.

“I love you,” she said to the pillow.

The pillow didn’t respond.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison didn’t know why she was alive anymore. Her two reasons for life were gone, taken away. Or maybe they left on their own accord, but she didn’t know what was worse.

What she did know was there was a hole in her heart. Two of them, actually; one with broad shoulders and a stout chest and one with tiny fingers and chubby cheeks. Two gargantuan holes where there used to be someone special, but now they weren’t there anymore.

It was like she was crossing a river, a giant, rushing river swelled by spring’s melted snow and every path was wrought with danger, every movement was a chance for disaster. And every step was so difficult, fighting against thousands of gallons of rushing water that threatened to consume her if she stopped, so she couldn’t.

But it was okay at first, because on the other side stood Nate cradling Shaun swaddled in his blue blanket. Whenever the current was stronger than she thought she could handle, they’d call out to her, cheer her on and tell her everything she needed to hear. She’d take the strength they’d give her and she’d fight on with the promise of reuniting with them.

And then she tripped, and when she looked back up, Nate was gone. Vanished into thin air, and now she didn’t have anyone to call out to her anymore. There was no one to tell her how good she was doing, how she was halfway there and making great progress.

Then she noticed that little Shaun was still there on the bank, all alone with no one to protect him.

She used that to pull her through the times of hardship, looked up whenever the current tried to knock her off her feet and looked at his frightened, green eyes and used the adrenaline to withstand the endless barrage of water. She was almost there.

She tripped again, and when she resurfaced, Shaun was gone.

Shaun and Nate were gone.

She was alone in a raging river that tried with all its effort to push her down, and this time when exhaustion crept into her bones, when the current was too much for her to handle, there was no one there to convince her otherwise. No one to cheer her on, no one to inspire her to resist the force of a thousand tons of pressure.

No reason to keep fighting.

Now all that was left was to decide whether to let the current wash her away or finish the job herself.

But she couldn’t do that. She had a gun in her hand, but she was too cowardly to use it. There was still that sliver of hope that refused to die in her chest, just enough to keep her alive, but not enough to keep her fighting.

Everything felt so heavy. Her arms, her legs, her head; all blocks of lead attached to a useless blob. Even her heart struggled to pump, like she’d been drugged but that couldn’t be the case. She hadn’t eaten anything for days.

She stared out the window at the sunbaked land caked in dust and dirt and brown, dry blood because that was all the effort she could spare. She stared out the window, watching the road with that sliver of hope that they’d come marching down the road.

They wouldn’t, and she knew that, but dreams were all she had now.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison didn’t seem to move for days. Cait thought she was dead at one point, but then she saw her eyes flicker and her chest faintly rise and fall. She never came to bed, never stood to grab food or water. Cait heard her call out for Codsworth occasionally, but it wasn’t really her, or at least it didn’t sound like her.

Allison’s voice was soft-spoken, yet firm when the need for discipline arose. It was harsh and loud between bursts of gunfire, but was capable of so much compassion and crooning melody.

All of that was gone. Now, it was raspy and monotone, devoid of emotion, and quiet. So, so quiet, and not the kind of quiet in a whisper when enemies were afoot. An empty kind of quiet, the kind that filled a room when no one was in it. That was her voice: deathly quiet.

Cait bumped into her one night just outside the bathroom. She’d just hurled all the contents of her stomach and then some after drinking herself sick, and she was making her way back to the bedroom to attempt sleep when she almost plowed into Allison.

But she didn’t look right, and Cait thought it was the dim lighting at first. Then she saw her eyes and how hollow they were, how dull they were, how they didn’t register Cait’s presence. She was thinner, and she stood with shoulders slouched looking like the slightest breeze could knock her over. Like a mummy without the wrappings.

Cait didn’t wait for her like she usually did. She was too tired to stand there very long, so she hobbled to their room and slept in a cold bed.

The opening of the front door startled her awake, and despite feeling like hell, Cait bolted up and darted for the door. Not again; recently, she’d been gone more than she’d been at the house, and while staring out a window wasn’t what Cait wanted, at least she was safe. At least she wasn’t charging hordes of supermutants or ghouls or raiders or God knows whose blood she coated herself with.

She caught her just as she was making to leave. She had one foot out the door, but Cait dragged her back in.

“No!” she said, clinging onto her shirt for dear life. “No, you are _not_ goin’ away again!”

Allison tried to disagree, turning to go anyways.

“Don’t go! Don’t you dare!” and when that wasn’t working, “Please!”

Allison stopped, and when she turned around and looked Cait in the eyes, Cait knew this was her chance.

“You listen to me,” Cait said, leaning in close, pulling Allison in closer. “Don’t you dare walk out that door. Do you hear me? Don’t you fucking dare, or I swear to God…”

There were no signs of protest, but there no signs of agreement either. She tried to turn and leave, but Cait pulled her back with all her might and kissed her. It was rough, and it was one-sided, Cait pressing her lips firmly to Allison’s that didn’t return the affection, but it reminded Cait of what she was fighting for. It reminded her how good Allison tasted, and when she buried her fingers into her red locks, she remembered how soft her hair was.

“You made me a promise,” she rasped the moment she parted, staring Allison in the eye in such a way that Allison couldn’t look anywhere but. “You promised me that you’d come back. Do you remember that?”

A flicker in her eyes. Just a flicker, but Cait’s heart lurched.

“Do you remember what you said to me? You said you’d come back to me when this is all over. Well, it’s over now, and you still haven’t come back to me,” she said, voice breaking.

Another little flicker.

“You’re here, but you ain’t back,” she said. “You’re here; I can feel you, and taste you, and touch you, but you haven’t come back yet. An- and even then, you’re always off doin’ God knows what,” she sniffled, “always comin’ home covered in blood and guts and fulla holes that I’ve gotta fix for you. Always starin’ out the window, actin’ like I’m not even here.”

Another flicker in her eyes, and her lips parted. Cait’s heart hammered, and she could feel Allison’s beat picking up through their clothes.

“I just want you back,” Cait confessed, face dropping to the crook of her neck. “I love you. I know I’m not everythin’ a woman could ask for. You could probably do much better than me, but-,” Cait held her tightly, breath coming shallow and forced, “but once upon a time, you said you loved me too. You said I was your butterfly, and you’d sing me to sleep and you’d hold me when I had my… my moments, and you’d tell me everythin’ was alright.” She squeezed her, “Tell me again. Tell me everythin’s gonna be alright.”

It never came.

Cait sniffled. “Do you remember how we used to sit outside in the evenings?” Cait asked. She was stalling now, but she could tell the moment she stopped, Allison would leave. “I’d sit in that rickety, old chair and you’d give me foot massages. Codsy’d fire up the grill and cook steaks, and Dogmeat’d scare off anythin’ tryin’ to sample the goods. And we’d flirt and tease and you’d start kissin’ up me leg, and just when you were pullin’ down me pants, Codsy’d call out dinner. Do you remember any of that?”

Allison didn’t respond, and kept talking.

“God, I need you,” Cait whispered, a wet ache swelling in her crotch. Being this close to her was doing things to her, warping her mind, reminding her of all the good times and the _really_ good times. “It’s been too damn long since…” She couldn’t say it. She didn’t know why she couldn’t just say ‘ _it’s been too damn long since you ate me out_ ’ or ‘ _it’s been too damn long since you’ve fucked me_ ’; she’d said dirtier things in passing, but it… didn’t seem appropriate for the moment. She had tears in her eyes, and unless her ass was whipped raw, that wasn’t exactly sexy.

Allison budged.

“I love you,” Cait said again, squeezing tighter. “I love you, but you’re hurting me.”

Allison budged again.

“Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

Hands started to push her away, and Cait scrabbled to hang on. She kissed her again, a brief kiss, a desperate kiss, but Allison pulled away.

“No,” she said, fingers burrowed into her shirt. “Don’t go.”

Cait fought for a hold, but Allison was stronger. She slowly pried each finger back, and Cait made a last-ditch effort to throw her arms around her and trap her in a hug. But Allison yanked away just as Cait released and Cait fell, knees painfully knocking against the floor. Without another word, Allison turned and walked through the door.

“If you go, I won’t be here when you get back!” Cait called, and she scared both of them to a halt. Allison because of the threat, and Cait because it was true.

She couldn’t keep living like this. She couldn’t wake up every morning with the hope that everything would right itself only for it to be crushed when she discovered Allison was gone again. She couldn’t keep waiting at the door uncertain of her fate, worrying that Allison had gone and gotten herself killed. She couldn’t keep looking her in the eyes and remembering how that green gaze used to look at her.

Allison turned back around, staring at her.

Her bone-deep exhaustion trickled into her voice. “I can’t keep doin’ this, Alli. It’s killin’ me, watchin’ you go off without me. If you go again, I won’t be here.”

For the first time in months, there was something other than a mask of stone on her face: fear. Cait hadn’t seen it on her face, but she recognized the look. The intensity of the eyes, the flighty movements of her feet, the twitch of her hand. Allison was afraid.

“You’re breakin’ me heart,” Cait said, lip quivering.

There. She’d broken through; Allison stepped toward the house.

The fires of hope stirred in her belly, and Cait’s breath was short. She reached out, trying to draw her in and keep her with her.

But it was gone as soon as it appeared. Her face hardened, and Cait’s heart plummeted.

“No…”

Allison turned away.

“No… No, no, no, no…”

She walked down the street, walked away from Cait who looked with a horrified expression.

“No, Alli! Alli…” she cried, succumbing to the pain of failure. To the pain of loss.

She curled up on the floor, weeping into her hands but trying to choke it down. Allison was gone. She’d had her for a moment, but now she was gone. She’d heard her threats, stopped and listened to them, and still she was gone.

Gone like her parents. Gone like everyone else.

Cait was alone again in a puddle of her tears. A familiar place, a place she knew best. But this time, the pain consumed her.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison knew what she had to do. It was simple, a menial task that wouldn’t take her more than ten minutes, but she was frightened out of her wits because of it.

She carried in her hands the grave markers she would stick into the ground. The white, wooden crosses for her angels. Her hands were trembling something fierce, and she dropped the shovel gripped in her other hand more than once. Her pace was quick, the boards of the bridge creaking as she traversed it, and when she was on the other side, she made for the woods behind the neighborhood.

The park wasn’t anything like it was in her memories. The grass was waist-high and yellow, the concrete was cracked and weathered, and the creaking of the chains on the swing set creeped across the field.

The dingy, white cross atop the hill perfectly hid amongst the clouds covering the sky. She ascended the hill, sifting through weeds and using the shovel to help her gain a foothold until she arrived at the crest. The waves billowed in the soft breeze.

The makeshift grave marker for Nate was already destroyed by the elements. The paint peeled, and the wood was soft and pliable. She ripped it from his grave with ease; its shoddy construction was an insult to his life and to his death.

The grave markers in her hand weren’t masterpieces, but they were the best she could do. She’d built one of them a long time ago, intended to replace Nate’s but she’d never gotten around to it. The other she’d made the day she’d buried Shaun, but she couldn’t bring herself back to this spot. What was beneath the ground here was too overwhelming.

She picked up one of the crosses, spiked it into the ground above Nate’s mound, raised the shovel, and brought it down.

Except she couldn’t. It was too real, too difficult to face the reality of what she was doing.

Giving up hope. That’s what she was doing. By replacing his grave marker, she was acknowledging the fact that Nathan was dead. He would never burst over the horizon and save her from this world like in her dreams. She would never see him again, and that’s why she couldn’t pound the final nail in the coffin.

But Nate wouldn’t want this. Clinging to a false hope wasn’t strength; it was being too weak to let go, that’s what he’d say. He’d wrap his arms around her and he’d tell her to move on.

She whacked the top of the marker and doubled over because someone had stabbed her heart and she was bleeding now. Bleeding clear, salty blood through her eyes.

She whacked it again, and it sank another inch deeper into the soil and into her heart.

She whacked it again, and when the pain dug further, she focused on breathing. She was only halfway done.

The cross spiked into the ground above Shaun’s mound.

His rosy cheeks were easy on her eyes, soft in her hands. His two emerald jewels for eyes sparkled with a brilliant promise for greatness. His heartbeat pattered against her breast, and his plump fingers curled around her index.

She whacked the marker into the ground once and had to pause. This was so much harder, but she knew if he were here, he’d cry with her, and she hated it when he cried. She clenched her teeth and braced her feet.

She whacked it again and it was like hammering a nail into her own foot. It hurt worse than she could imagine, and willingly inducing pain made her hesitate. But just one more was all it would take.

She whacked it one final time and crumpled to the dirt.

They were gone. There was no way to change it, they were just gone. A simple concept, but it was so difficult to face. She had to willingly snuff this hope in her breast or she would be consumed by the fire it started. She had to understand there was nothing she could do about it.

Shaun was dead. Nate was dead, too. Nothing on this earth could rescind that. She had to accept it.

She had to let go.

With a sigh, she surrendered to the current and let it wash her away.

A glimpse of red on the shore, and Allison turned her head.

_Cait._

 

**ooooo**

 

Cait was going for the Godforsaken desert.

It was a promise from months ago, forged through love and sealed with a kiss, but it was Cait’s only option. She’d searched under every rock, in every drawer, and in every nook and cranny, but she’d found no hope. Only dust and lies, and she had only one place left to go.

She’d promised Cait that she’d come and get her if she were stranded in a Godforsaken desert. Well, there was nothing here. No hope and no Allison, so she’d go searching for hope in this desert, and when she found it, she’d pick it up and hold it in her hands, find a nice, quiet spot under a shady tree and she’d sit there and wait for Allison to come for her.

She would come, Cait was certain; she’d promised, after all.

She’d promised to come get her from the Godforsaken desert.

She had her things packed up in a bag: a shotgun, a bat, some bubblegum, and some booze. She couldn’t think of anything else she’d need, so she was off across the bridge, leaving a trail of small dots of dampness in the dusty asphalt. She sniffled, ambling slowly on. The Godforsaken desert wasn’t moving any time soon.

Footsteps approached behind her and she glanced over her shoulder.

Arms wrapped around her, and Cait turned into them because she knew who it was instinctually. Maybe it was the pattern of her footsteps, or the familiar crisscross of scars over her forearms. Perhaps it was her scent that gave it away because she knew it so well, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Allison held her again, pressed her tightly to her body, cradled her like Cait was the most precious thing in the world. Not a moment passed before their lips pressed together madly, and not a moment passed after that before their lips opened and their tongues slithered against each other. Their patterns and preferences clicked together in an instant, and Cait finally remembered how good her tongue was in her mouth and how tender her touch was to her skin and how well the curves of their bodies fit each other.

They could barely breathe, but they only needed each other.

“I love you,” Allison tried to say, but Cait smothered her words with kisses. There was no time to talk; life was short, and Cait would die if she were ever pried away from these lips.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Allison tried to mumble, but Cait was in control of her tongue, and she wouldn’t yield it until Allison let her go. Which would be never.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Allison whispered, and Cait tried to swallow her words but they were too sweet, and she ended up with more tears down her cheeks. Allison pulled her in, strong arms crushing her in the best way while Cait ran her hands under Allison’s shirt and counted the scars.

“It’s gonna be okay, Butterfly,” she whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who stuck around and read up until this part! This isn’t quite the end, but I think it is coming soon. I hope to see you all next chapter!


	17. A Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy!

Cait was the most wonderful thing there ever was. It was as simple as that, and nothing anyone could say or do or show could convince Allison otherwise.

She’d only had Cait in her arms for a minute or two, but she was already drunk on her lips. On her tongue that desperately jived to the tune of her gasps and her moans and all the little sounds she made. All the little shudders and the reactions of her body, the flushing of her chest, the headiness in her eyes.

But Allison couldn’t see her eyes because she was kissing her. It was months since she’d kissed her, but the old routines and patterns took hold, and she remembered how Cait liked that specific, slithering motion of their tongues. She remembered the rhythm of Cait’s kisses, and it was like she’d never been gone at all.

She carried her off the ground, bringing them back to the house. Cait’s legs locked around Allison’s waist, arms around Allison’s neck, lips on Allison’s lips. Allison couldn’t see where they were going, but basic memory guided her. She didn’t know how far they’d traveled or how far they had left to go, but she didn’t care; she was too focused on palming Cait’s rump because when she did that, Cait rolled her hips. She was too concentrated on giving Cait all her love because when she did that, Cait mumbled into her mouth.

Muffled sobs, she realized. That was new.

“Why are you crying, Butterfly?” she asked into her mouth.

“Shut up,” Cait said. “Just… shut up.”

“I love you, Butterfly,” Allison said.

Another muffled sob and Cait squeezed her so tightly, and Allison squeezed her back.

Some time passed, and they were at the door. Allison reached out with one hand and opened it, and then they passed over the threshold.

Allison needed her. It was like a switch was flipped, a chemical reaction to the cool temperature of the air conditioned house. A roiling heat welled up in her chest and her groin, and suddenly Allison _had_ to have her. Cait was her burning liquor, and Allison hadn’t drunk anything in days.

The kisses became sloppy and heated and they tried to swallow each other’s tongues but they couldn’t. And that just made them try harder, shifting constantly to find the right angle.

The bed was too far away; she plopped Cait on the counter, lips never leaving Cait’s, and they slobbering like dogs now but they didn’t let up. Allison pulled Cait’s combat boots from her feet, and Cait unbuttoned the front of her corset.

Allison immediately set upon Cait’s bare chest, devouring a milky breast and kneading the other with her hand. It was salty and sweaty and delicious, and she took as much of it as she could into her mouth and she pulled Cait forward so she could have more. They were so soft and malleable in her mouth, and Allison bullied them until they were marked and bitten and sucked until they bruised, and Cait struggled to breathe, shifting her weight while she squirmed out of her pants.

Allison abandoned them as suddenly as she’d embraced them, and she trailed her open mouth down Cait’s sensual tummy.

“I love you,” she breathed.

And then she descended upon her, took all of Cait’s hot wetness into her mouth, and Cait’s hands flew to her hair and tugged.

“Fuck-!” she tried to shout, but she couldn’t breathe so it came out as a gasp. “Oh, fuck-!... Oh, fuck-!”

Cait lasted ten seconds, her thighs clamping around Allison’s head, her core pulsing with juices that dripped down her chin, and she couldn’t speak. Allison ate her through it, swallowed as much of her as she could, and when she was heaving for breath, Allison stood with Cait’s legs still over her shoulders.

Cait was too ashamed to look her in the eye, squeezing hers shut. “Fuck, Alli, I’m sorry… It’s just, it’s been so long since-!”

Allison shut her up with a kiss, because Cait was wonderful and didn’t deserve to feel shame for cumming so beautifully. But she didn’t say anything; she conveyed it all through a kiss, and when the appropriate time had passed, Allison descended her body once more.

A soft moan when Allison tasted her again, and Allison didn’t know how she’d lasted so many months without gorging on such a fine meal. Milky thighs coated with Cait’s arousal, soaked folds that melted in her mouth, a stiff bud that drew shudders and soft sounds of pleasure from Cait’s plump, kissable lips; Allison never wanted to leave.

Cait was more delicious than a perfectly slice of pie, sweeter than a Fancy Lad snack cake, juicier than a greasy Salisbury steak, more refreshing than an ice-cold Nuka Quantum on a hot day. Allison devoured her as such, tongue swirling and dipping and diving and moving just like Cait loved.

“Oh… Alli…” Cait moaned breathlessly when two fingers slipped effortlessly into her pussy. “Fuckin’… Fuckin’ _fuck_ …”

The strokes were easy but firm, spreading Cait’s tightness and diving as deep as her knuckles would allow her. She wanted to slip in another finger, but Cait was so peacefully lost in the motions of Allison, and Allison didn’t want to disturb that. So she slowly fucked her with two, juices dripping down Allison’s forearm.

She found the rough patch of nerves inside her, and when every even stroke began to press against her spot, Cait released a shuddering breath.

“Alli… Alli…” she moaned, and the notes of her name drifted into her ears and Allison hummed as the fingers in her hair tightened.

Cait smelled musky and sweaty, but there was that underlying hint of something unexplainable that made it specifically _Cait_ , and Allison inhaled her with calm enthusiasm.

Allison’s tongue jived to the little gasps and the moans and the sounds Cait made, and she treated Cait’s clit like the delicate, delicious flower it was. Applying her rasping tongue to make her hips buck. Circling round and round and Cait gasped and gasped. Sucking pleasure from the bud, and Cait’s thighs shuddered because Cait loved that.

Her walls were tighter around Allison’s slithering fingers as they thrusted and curled and twisted. Hot, molten slick streamed all over Allison’s hand, all down her forearm to her elbow. All down her chin and she slurped what oozed from her tight, occupied entrance.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

Her body was tensing, her warm, gooey insides tightening. Allison kept the pace steady, kept tonguing her clit with the same pattern, kept thrusting and curling while Cait breathed harder and harder and harder.

“Ah!” Ciat exclaimed suddenly. “Alli… Cumming…”

And as her thighs tightened around her head, as she tugged her hair without restraint, as her body went stiff and her head threw back, Alli’s name was the only sound she whimpered.

Her walls clamped around her fingers, but Allison ignored it and focused solely on kneading that sensitive spot inside her that made her hips buck. Her body convulsed, her sensual belly rocking a voluptuous rhythm, and her pussy pulsed juices.

Her orgasm was gorgeously captivating, a sight that Allison watched with hungry eyes. Lost in her own pleasure, her body undulating like an erotic wave of passion, crying Allison’s name. It seemed to last forever, and Allison was content to simply watch and taste.

Allison stayed between her legs, and when the aftershocks came- like Allison knew they would- she stole Cait’s breath away again and again. They weren’t as intense, but it they were, she’d have been driven mad.

Allison didn’t move until she’d slurped up every bit of Cait’s orgasm from her slick folds, and when she was done with that, she licked her hand and face clean.

Cait almost threw herself at her when Allison finally stood, stuffing her face into the crook of Allison’s neck as she held her close. Legs securely fitted around her waist and arms pulling her in, Allison could do nothing but bury her face into Cait’s skin and breathe her in.

Faint traces of body odor, shampoo, and gun oil. Cait smelled as wonderful as she looked.

She recovered at her own pace, exhausted gasping mellowing into long, deep breaths, and Allison tracked the rampant pounding of her heart until it relaxed into the beat of a lullaby. A stifling breeze blustered through the open door, and Cait hid further into Allison’s figure for protection from the heat.

Cait spoke, voice hoarse and tight. “Where the hell were you?”

Chasing a dream that couldn’t ever happen. Scouring the Commonwealth for a life worth living, but she was too stupid to realize it was right here in her arms. That wasn’t what she said, though; Cait wouldn’t understand, and she’d already caused her so much pain.

“Looking for you,” she said.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

Her hand crawled beneath Cait’s corset, her phantom fingers spreading shivers along Cait’s bare back. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” and there was so much hurt and blood from her wounded heart that Allison felt it too. Began to bleed from her broken heart.

“I was away for a little while, but I’m back, now. That’s what matters, right?” Allison asked.

“Four, fuckin’ months,” Cait said softly, but bubbling acid in her voice hissed and popped, “is not a ‘little while.’”

“I won’t leave you ever again,” Allison promised.

Quiet while Cait thought into her neck, hot breathe sweeping across Allison’s flesh. “How do I know you ain’t lyin’?”

“If I promised, would you believe me?”

Cait shook her head, the tip of her nose swishing across Allison’s neck. “You already broke that one.”

“If I said I’d stay for the sex, would you believe me?”

“Not funny,” Cait said.

“If I kissed you, would you believe me?”

Cait said nothing immediately, and Allison stroked up her back with a splayed palm. “Depends on the kiss…”

Cait’s lips were smooth as silk. Maybe slightly chapped, but they were plush and soft, and like always, they tasted so sweet. Allison didn’t question it; perhaps it was a byproduct of popping pills like candy, but Allison was certain that the high she gained was all natural.

Tongues slithered to meet in the middle, and Allison explored Cait’s soft mouth for what must’ve been the hundredth time. But she kept coming back, and she imagined when a thousand kisses passed, she still wouldn’t tire of Cait’s tender tongue. Languid stroke after languid stroke, and Cait’s defenses melted in the same manner she was in Allison’s embrace. Pooling into her arms, bodies gently flush, and when the kiss concluded, she leaned against Allison, forehead to forehead.

Her eyes were emeralds, and Allison would hide them in a lockbox and stow them away where only she could appreciate their beauty. But she was content to just gaze, let Cait keep them safe and she would keep Cait safe.

Cait studied her eyes, and maybe she saw adoration, or maybe it was the fierce instinct to protect her. Whatever she saw, it brought them close again, close enough that her breath puffed against her lips. Cait leaned forward.

“Okay,” she breathed.

And then their mouths and bodies were one, and they were star-crossed in love again.

 

**ooooo**

 

The shower’s watery edge cut the grime and the soil from Allison’s body, the mist unfurling from the stall in waves. They’d stood there so long, the temperature of the water was waning but Cait didn’t care.

Allison wasn’t a shell anymore. She was a woman, the thing of indestructible will and unwavering dedication that Cait had fallen for. The woman with a hard body and a sharp mind, the woman that made Cait’s head swim with a soft whisper into her ear, the woman that wouldn’t bow to anyone’s demands. The woman perpetually on a mission.

But when Cait stared up into her eyes and Allison stared back with an intensity reserved only for matters of the Institute, when Allison held her so close that Cait could feel her thumping heart, when the familiar focus of obsession seized her gaze, Cait realized _she_ was the mission now.

Forehead to forehead, Allison leaned in. A threatening glare in her eyes, but it wasn’t at Cait. It was at everything but Cait, anything that snapped and growled and spat bullets in their general direction.

“No one will _ever_ hurt you,” she whispered menacingly, and Cait shivered.

Cait’s eyes fluttered shut, and moments later, lips pressed to hers. Soft lips- the lips of a vault dweller- and Cait moaned because it was more than just a kiss; it was another promise. To keep her safe when the demons came knocking. To save her when she couldn’t save herself, and she believed this promise because Allison had already saved her.

She reached up and bound her fingers in smooth, wet locks, tilted her head so she could kiss more of those plush lips, and pressed her naked body into her lover’s contours until there wasn’t a breath of space between them. Slippery tongues slipped into mouths and slithered and stroked, and it was all okay.

There, beneath the hot water and caught up in her lover’s desperate embrace, everything was okay.

 

**ooooo**

 

A nightmare came again that night, and when Cait screamed herself awake, she flung her arms to the other side of the bed for comfort. But it was empty.

Empty and cold, and her scent had disappeared after a long time’s absence.

It was all just a dream. The ultimatum, Allison’s return to her, the love they’d made until the sky had darkened; all a dream. Conjured by her desperate need for closure, Cait reckoned, but it wasn’t closure. It just rent the wound wider, and she was as lonely and cold as the bedsheets.

The pain that pierced her heart struck her so severely, she couldn’t breathe. She heaved for air, but it wouldn’t come because she was empty. There was nothing inside her, no lungs, no heart, nothing but crippling pain. Then the tears dribbled down her cheeks, and she couldn’t bear the torture or the freezing cold of the bed because it was warm.

She _swore_ it was warm when she retired. She _swore_ there were arms around her waist, a nose nuzzling into her scalp. She _swore_ Allison had been there at one point, and her chest ached so much because she’d been happy.

She _swore_ she’d been happy, but she wasn’t now; now, she was curled into a ball hoping the loss would stop kicking her, hoping she could return to that dream where she was happy and Allison was there.

She closed her eyes and she commanded herself to sleep, because just maybe, she could go back to that dream where the world wasn’t broken and dark. Where the bed was warm with her lover, and Cait would wake up with a smile and she’d roll over and they’d kiss and spend the whole day in their heaven they’d created together.

She squeezed her eyes shut and she chased the dream until her feet were raw and her ankles were twisted, until her heart burst and her limbs were heavy, until she was so cut by the brambles and the sharp branches that her blood pooled into the sheets beside her.

But she never found her, and Alli never came for her.

She was alone in a cold bed in a cold house in a cold, cold world, and Alli wasn’t coming back. Her sunshine was gone, snuffed from her life and everything was cast into shadow and as Cait froze to death in this world without sunshine, all she could was hug her knees to her chest and hope that heaven existed. Because if it did, Allison would be there.

“Cait?” a voice asked.

The frost over her eyelids melted, and she opened them.

Alli’s concerned face invaded her personal space, but the moment she saw her, she reache dup and pulled her close.

“It’s okay, butterfly,” Allison said, and she pulled her up and wrapped arms around her and rocked her back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s just a nightmare. I’ve got you.”

The room was dark and the pieces of the window peeking through the curtains were black with night, but Allison’s warmth melted the ice gripping her soul and the frozen tears on her cheeks flowed freely. She burrowed her face into Allison’s neck and stayed there while strong arms held her close.

“It’s okay, Butterfly,” Allison whispered into the dead of night, into the quiet hum of the house and the silent whoosh of the ventilation, but Cait caught every word. Fingers raked gently through her hair, rubbed soothingly into her bare back, and Cait pressed herself so closely into her lover’s body, she knew nothing but Allison’s smooth skin and her intoxicating scent and her controlled pulse.

“It’s okay, Butterfly. It’s okay,” Allison said. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.”

Cait clung to her, because she still wasn’t sure. She’d been gone for so long, and maybe Allison was different now. Maybe she’d succumbed to the madness of the wastes, and she was luring her out of her shell to take her away to the Raiders.

Maybe none of this was real. Maybe this was a fever dream sparked at the last moments of her life as she froze to ice.

But then a dulcet melody made of pure sunshine floated to her eager ear, and the last remnants of her doubtful guard shed from her heart. She wept into an angels shoulder, and Allison wrapped her up in her wings and surrounded them in lyrical harmony that freed the fear and the pain and the tension from her body, and Cait shuddered and clutched her tighter.

Songs of sunshine and a lover’s embrace. Just what Cait needed.

A long while passed, and Allison rocked Cait from the beginning, where she sobbed and scrabbled, all the way to the end, where they hugged in a comfortable silence.

“What was it about?” Allison whispered. “You were calling my name, and when I rolled you over, you were crying.”

Cait didn’t reply. Not immediately, at least. Too busy hanging onto her, because if she didn’t, she might leave again.

“You can tell me anything, baby,” she said, hand sweeping up her bare back and pulling her until they were flush, and Cait had to know if this was real.

She raised her head, cupped Allison’s face, and when she closed her eyes and descended upon her lips, she knew it was real. The taste was too sharp, the pink flesh too supple and uniquely soft, for this to be dreamed. Dreams weren’t this detailed, and dreams couldn’t fill her heart with so much compassion and shuddering relief.

They were gasping when they parted, hands cupping faces to keep the other close, but neither ever wanted to pull away.

“What… What was it bout?” Allison asked.

A look: that was all Allison needed. A desperate look, one filled with loss and torment and despair, and Allison understood.

“I won’t leave you,” she said. “I promise.”

“Prove it,” Cait demanded.

They kissed firmly, and with her tongue, Allison spelled out her undying devotion into Cait’s mouth. It was the sweetest thing Cait had ever tasted. An oath made of saliva and heat and pure passion. Stamped messily upon her lips, wound tightly around her heart.

When they laid down to sleep until the morning and a little ways after, Cait cast one more kiss over her shoulder. Sweet and tender. Then Cait turned around, and only when Allison’s warm body snuggled up flush to Cait’s did she drift into a slumber.

 

**ooooo**

 

“I love you.”

Whispered from lips pressed against her ear, sultry breath flushing her skin. A hand groping her sweaty boob, fingers rolling the nipple. A hot body cradling hers, spooning her from behind. Breasts squished against her back, her ass nestled snugly into wide hips. Legs interlinked and sliding sensually as morning sunlight trickled through the curtains.

“I love you.”

Cait’s response was quiet gasps, and a few, soft moans.

The lips closed around her ear, a tongue slathering up the shell.

“You are my Butterfly,” Allison said.

‘ _You are my Sunshine_ ,’ Cait yearned to say, but with Allison’s fingers working her clit, she couldn’t concentrate enough to do anything but breathe. The only sound was of soft panting and softer fingering, morning’s lazy lull too heavy in effect for anything wilder.

But Cait was just fine with this; Allison was warm and cozy, and she knew just how to touch Cait to make her eyes roll and her toes curl.

“I dream about you in my sleep,” Allison whispered, and Cait shuddered as she applied firm, yet gentle strokes to her clit, stirring her slick like a stew she would slurp.

Her nipples rolled in Allison’s fingertips, and when Cait’s spine arched, Allison pulled her flush.

“You’re so wet,” Allison said, and Cait really was. Oozing down her thigh, coating Allison’s fingers, and she hadn’t even entered her yet. “You’ll taste delicious when I eat you.”

Cait was a mess, a hot, sweaty, whimpering mess, and at the mere mention of a mouth around her cunt, her hips rocked and her core flooded.

An amused hum, a smile against her ear. “That got you excited, didn’t it?”

God, she was so close. The orgasm built and built, but it never quite spilled over. Slow strokes that swirled her clit and soaked the sheets and rubbed wonderful friction that licked up her body and made her flesh sensitive. Like her nipples and her breasts, or her ass cheeks grinding softly into the hips that cradled them.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Allison asked knowingly. “Don’t fight it; I love watching you cum.”

Fighting it was the last thing Cait would do. She was lost in the chase, and it was brushing her fingertips and she was so, so close.

And then Allison’s middle and ring finger slipped through her slick folds and pushed up and into her, her palm grinding her clit, and when they curled inside her, found her spot, and stroked, Cait’s whole body tensed as pleasure erupted with a mumbled string of profanity. Her orgasm washed over her in warm, toe-curling waves, and an expert roll of her nipple amplified the tingling sensation crawling up her skin.

Allison stroked her spot through the whole of it, following the rocking of Cait’s hips and whispering delightfully naughty things that would’ve flushed her cheeks had they not already been scarlet with lust.

When it finally finished ages after it started, Cait was all warm smiles and tender cuddles, twisting around to hug her lover with all of her body. The kiss was as sweet as the orgasm, and Allison gently rolled Cait onto her back so she could easier pour her love into Cait’s mouth.

She lifted her lips from Cait’s, two pairs of eyes fluttering open to lock in a gaze that drew smiles from both of them. Silence while Allison appraised Cait’s blushing complexion and Cait admired those captivating eyes.

“So what’re we doin’ today?” Cait asked quietly, fingers lightly tracing Allison’s beauty.

Allison kissed her once, mumbling the answer against her lips. “Making love.”

“And what about tomorrow?”

A kiss, a brief instance of tongue. “Making love.”

Cait smiled widely. “And the day after that?”

“Making love.”

Cait hummed a laugh into Allison’s insistent lips; that sounded like a plan to her.

It was kisses and tongue from there, the lovely sounds of sweaty bodies moving against one another exciting Cait until a mutual smile spread across their lips and Allison descended down her body, kissing a trail down her flesh, worshipping her breasts, her tummy, her hips.

Cait remembered Allison saying something once about how she liked licking cum from Cait’s pussy more than frosting from a cupcake.

Then a hot, wet mouth closed around her pussy, and her spine arched off the bed and her fingers threaded through silky locks and her lips screamed a wide, silent “O” as Allison spent the rest of the day licking the frosting from her messy cunt.

 

**ooooo**

 

Being near her almost wasn’t enough. She needed to touch, to hold close, to cuddle for warmth, and simply being next to her was a terrible form of torture. Ogling the sway of her hips, admiring how her panties hugged her ass, appreciating the power rippling through her lean arms; none of it was enough.

Watching Cait leave for the bathroom was the hardest part of Allison’s morning.

She lay there on her side, staring forlornly where her lover disappeared through the doorway, and when Cait was out of sight, her stomach began to roil.

It was small, at first. A tug in her gut, an inability to focus on anything but listening for the telltale sounds of her lover. Uncertainties arose, and then the questions arrived.

Why was it taking Cait so long to get to the bathroom? Why couldn’t Allison hear her footsteps? Had something happened to her?

Water rushed through the pipes running through the walls when the tap turned on in the next room, and Allison breathed a sigh of relief.

This was silly. Cait was her own person, her own strong individual with a killer’s instinct and a high body count. It was foolish to think Cait couldn’t handle herself.

But as the tap flowed and flowed and never seemed to shut off, her stomach tied itself into knots. Cait was always quick in the bathroom, spending only as much time as she needed, and yet, the tap continued to flow. Allison hugged the pillow, trying to ignore how sick she felt and subdue the questions raising, but she couldn’t.

Was Cait in trouble? Had she fallen and hit her head?

Had someone entered the house?

No. Codsworth tinkered to the tune of cheery whistling, and he wouldn’t miss an intruder. And Dogmeat would’ve barked at the very least. No, it couldn’t be anything like that.

But the water was still running, and Allison clenched the sheets between her fingers, ground her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Cait was okay. She was just being thorough, perhaps preparing for another round. She was like that, too impatient to bother putting forth more than the minimum effort, but never rushing what effort she put forth.

And yet, the questions still lingered.

What if someone was in the house? What if Cait needed her help, and she was too caught up in indecision to come to her aid?

What if Cait was dying right now, bleeding from a slit throat, and Allison couldn’t take that. Not the thought, and certainly not the reality, and she pushed herself up from the bed. She grabbed her pistol, rushed around the corner, and-.

A deep sigh escaped her, and she dropped her pistol at the door.

Cait was at the sink, wearing nothing but a tank top, a pair of panties, and a head of hair as wild as last night. She held a toothbrush to her teeth, and her foaming lips smiled her smug smile when she glanced Allison in the mirror.

She threw a look over her shoulder, green eyes alight with a lecherous twinkle, and she perked her butt, crossed one long, bare leg over the other, and she flexed her arms until her biceps bulged.

“Couldn’t resist sneekin’ a peek, could ya?” she purred.

Allison didn’t say anything. Nothing about how her ass was big enough to get lost in, or how she better brush well because Allison’s pussy was so sweet.

She was quiet when she wrapped her arms around Cait’s waist and nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and that was how Cait knew something was off.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Cait asked with a concerned frown.

Allison let her spit out her toothpaste and rinse her mouth with water before she claimed her lips in an awkward, over-the-shoulder kiss. Awkward, but the worry and the stomach-churning anxiety seeped from her heart, and its place was relief and love. Cait was stronger than a whole bottle of whiskey, more intoxicating than a dose of Jet straight to the lungs, and Allison drank her in until there was nothing but Cait.

Cait’s smooth curves that fit with hers, Cait’s sharp edges that cut and sliced and drew tears, but Allison didn’t let go because when the blood stopped flowing, it was washed away by passionate affection that poured from her soul and into Allison’s waiting mouth.

And she drank it up, lapped her up with her tongue, and when they parted, they were both drunk. Eyes heady, eyelids heavy, and lips parted and begging for more.

“What’s up, Sunshine?” Cait asked breathlessly.

“You were gone a long time. I thought you…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. First her world, then Nate, then Shaun, and then Cait? She couldn’t lose her world again. “I thought you were in trouble…”

A chuckle but she didn’t smile, didn’t take her gaze from Allison’s eyes. “It’s only been a minute, darlin’.”

It didn’t feel like a minute. It felt like an eternity, a terrible eternity where Allison couldn’t have Cait’s body wrapped in her arms, where she couldn’t feel the thump of her heart through her chest.

Though she didn’t admit that. Instead, she took in her pale face, cupped her breasts that melted in her hands, and counted the beats of her heart against her chest.

“Do I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” Allison whispered.

“Almost as much as you say, ‘I love you,’” Cait said, and suddenly she was needy. “Tell me you love me. Please.”

“I love you.”

A kiss that was as much slobbery and sloppy as it was passionate.

When they parted lip, Cait wrinkled her nose, teasing, “Your tongue tastes like arse.”

Allison smiled, kissing her again, noting how it didn’t seem to bother Cait at all. “I wonder why that is?” She pulled suggestively at the waistband of Cait’s panties, pressing her lips to her shoulder. “Have you washed?”

Cait grinned, pinching her lip between her white teeth. “It’s the first thing I wash, ya horny, little devil.”

“Good,” was all she said, and then she was lowering to her knees, hands gliding down Cait’s flawless body until they rested on her hips. Then she pulled Cait’s panties down her long legs, and Allison was face-to-cheeks with her breakfast. She leaned in and sniffed; she’d used the scented soap, too.

“So what’re we doin’ today?” Cait asked.

Allison spread her cheeks with her thumbs, licking her lips at what she found. “I thought we’d stay home today, maybe eat a little. Or a lot.”

Cait chuckled, but it was shaky in anticipation. “We’ve been cooped up in the house for a week, now. I think we need to get out and see some sunshine.”

Cait was right; they’d been bedridden for the past week, and while Allison would be content whatever they did, she could understand Cait’s flighty feet.

“Hmmmmm,” Allison thought, leaning in, lips parted to feast upon her meal. “I think I have a place in mind.”

“Where ya thinkin’ of?” Cait asked.

Allison spelled it out with her tongue, and Cait moaned her approval.

 

**ooooo**

 

Bunker Hill. The largest trade depot in the Commonwealth, second to none in both its sheer economic power and its attraction of the skeeviest markets in existence.

And it was swarming with raiders. Of course, this was the deal; for a hefty portion of the depot’s profits and free access to the marketplace, the gangs would kindly turn a blind eye and refrain from assaults. But that didn’t calm the itchy trigger fingers of the locals behind their barstools, and Cait gave it a year before someone finally started shooting. Cait hoped to be there when they did.

Bunker Hill was simply a pit stop between home and their ultimate destination, and Allison seemed eager to keep moving past the massive pillar of off-white brick and push toward the coast. However, their canteens were dry as a thistle and they’d have made it farther past the depot had they not been forced to hide in a cave for a day while a couple of curious deathclaws scouted their immediate area.

The sun was dreadfully hot and dazzlingly bright that day, and while Cait surrendered to the heat and tied her jacket around her waist, Allison still hid beneath the faded trench coat. Cait didn’t know how she survived without contracting heatstroke, but when Cait got to peel Allison’s clothes off her sweaty body every night, she couldn’t complain.

“Don’t stray too far,” Allison said as they climbed the steps to the monument. “I’ve heard rumors that the peace treaties aren’t working out.”

“Raider fuckin’ bastards,” Cait replied sourly, “I trust ‘em as far as I can throw ‘em.”

 “I’ve seen you throw a man a good distance, before.”

Cait snorted. “Yeah, they’re all skin and bones, aren’t they?”

Allison cast a wayward glance her way. “And you’re not?”

Cait smirked, raised her arm, and flashed her guns. “Does this look like skin and bones to you, Sunshine?”

Allison’s gaze lingered, and Cait winked. She chuckled under her breath, and Cait wore a smug grin.

Shoulders tensed as they passed through the gates, eyes scanning the crowd for trouble. Cait’s guns were stowed, but Allison kept her rifle in hand just in case; it didn’t do anything to ease the restless suspense, but the kind of characters they wished to avoid took one look at the dangerous pair of women and skulked away.

Few of the folks behind the counters talked much, but Cait couldn’t blame them. The place was crawling with raiders, and they had an annoying habit of poking their noses where they didn’t belong. And judging from how many stared at her ass as they walked by, Cait guessed that quite a few of them wanted to stick something else where it didn’t belong.

But her shotgun was loaded and her bat was caked in blood and begging to clobber a few more heads before the sun died down, and she met their stare with a murderous glare. Some backed off, and those that didn’t, Cait would keep an eye on.

A neon sign caught her attention, and her dry throat ached for a good drink. “While you take care of business, I’m gonna go hit the bar.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Allison reach out for her, but she stopped herself.

Cait looked over her shoulder. “What?”

Trepidation in her posture, nervously worrying her lip. “I…” She shook her head, trying to appear calm and collected, but Cait saw it was just a mask. “It’s nothing. Go on, I’ll meet you there.”

Cait hesitated. “You sure there ain’t something ya need to tell me?”

“I’m fine,” Allison said with a waver in her voice.

Cait frowned. “I never asked if you were fine.”

“Just, go,” she said, but it sounded forced, and when she turned toward the market to leave, she trudged like she had bricks tied to her ankles.

Cait stared after her, but gave it no more thought than that. Allison had her reasons and Cait had hers, and they respected each other’s boundaries. With broad shoulders and a strut, she waltzed up to a stool, took her seat, and ordered something with a kick.

Considering the heat, Cait was impressed the drink wasn’t boiling. It was, however, flat and bitter, and while she expected the awful taste, she’d only ordered something to burn away her dry throat.

Suffice to say when thing one and thing two decided to take up seats on either side of her, she was already short-tempered.

“So,” the left man said, his yellow grin full of holes and his tone trying much too hard to be smooth, “you all alone?”

“’Cause we can fix that,” said the man on the right.

“Oh, fuck off,” Cait said, and took a swig. “I’m taken.”

The left man looked around.

The right looked around.

“Well that’s funny,” the right man said, “’cause I don’t see anyone but you, and me.”

“And me!” exclaimed the left man, not to be easily passed over.

“And you, Charlie,” the right man said impatiently.

Cait ground her teeth, taking another swig. “You keep talkin’ and you’ll meet her soon enough,” she said.

“Hmmm,” said the right man, inquisitively stroking his chin. “So you’re into girls, are you?” He turned around. “Hey, Carrie! Got a girl here who’s right up your alley!”

A moment later, a woman that reeked like the sewers and looked like it too slithered between the left man and Cait, flashing a wide, skeevy smile.

“So you are, huh?” asked the woman, her voice gravelly from a lifetime of cigarettes and wheezy from several Jet overdoses.

“Don’t I remember tellin’ y’all to fuck off?” Cait asked.

“Look, pals, the lady said no,” said barkeep, doing what he could to polish the surface of the counter. “Now how about you fine gentlemen find someone else to harass?”

The woman snarled. “Keep your mouth shut, Savoldi.” She plopped her pistol, a pathetic piece of pipes and wooden block, onto the counter. The man on the left retrieved a lighter and the flame flickered to life, but it wasn’t as bright as the flame in his milky eyes “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to your place of business,” the woman said with a sneer, “now would we?”

Savoldi snorted, shaking his head. “All I’m saying is no one’s crossed Cait and lived. Take that as you will.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Woah, you’re Cait? Guys, we gotta-.”

A bolt of blood erupted from the woman’s neck and she convulsed in shock, struggling for a hold on the table as she slid down the stool.

The left man ducked from the gunshot, hand darting to his pistol on his hip, but it was too late. Another bullet punched through his lower back, and his spine curled from the pain, toppling off his stool and writhing in the dirt.

The right man whipped around, a 10 millimeter pistol clutched in his hand, and the first shot missed, merely chipping off a piece of the rear sight, but the second bullet struck his hand and his gun flew from his grasp as he howled and collapsed to his knees.

Cait was on her feet and ready to swing before the fifth could hit her, but she halted in her tracks.

“Alli?” Cait asked, and there Allison was. Rifle shouldered, hunkered low in anticipation of return fire.

Cait looked around; weapons slid from holsters, shopkeepers aiming at raiders and raiders aiming back, shouts echoing off the monuments. The two men were curled on the ground, and the woman was going limp, a pool of blood rapidly expanding as her throat poured.

If they weren’t careful, there’d be a second Battle of Bunker Hill.

Cait stepped in. “What the hell was that?!” she hissed.

Allison stared dumbly at her.

She grumbled frustration. They had to leave; Cait was never one to pass up a good fight, but they were in the open and horribly outnumbered. She didn’t see them walking away from this, so she took Allison’s uncooperative arm and led them to the back entrance.

Someone stepped in their way, someone shoving a shitty pipe gun in her face and slabs of rusting iron strapped to their limbs, and Cait swung without thought. The bat cracked against his skull, and he slumped.

Only when they were far away and bent over panting did Cait approach Allison.

Hands on her hips, she studied her lover until Allison noticed her staring and meekly avoiding her eyes.

“Do ya mind explainin’ yourself?” Cait asked.

Allison fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting her feet and doing a horrible job of hiding how anxious she was. The air between them was too quiet, thick with suspense. Waiting for the gunfire to start, because Allison knew how angry Cait would be if they let those raider bastards win another fight.

Cait leaned in. “Well?” she asked.

Allison mumbled something.

“Speak up.”

She spoke softly, maintaining her gaze at the asphalt. “I thought…”

“… You thought what?”

Allison’s hands clenched, her jaw taut. “I thought you were in danger okay?” she forced out, and she glanced at Cait just long enough to recognize the fear in her eyes before they jumped away. “I saw a gun, and I panicked.”

That didn’t make sense, because Allison never panicked, and Cait didn’t have to say it for both of them to know it.

“Look, I…” Allison mumbled. “I…”

Cait crossed her arms, waiting expectantly for an answer.

Allison took in a shaky breath, and it was hard for her to look Cait in the eye but she did anyways at the cost of burning cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Cait frowned. “What?”

“Look, I…” Allison glanced around, looking at anything that wasn’t Cait, but she had to look at her and when she did, she took a step forward. “I’ve lost a lot Cait. My husband, my son, and I don’t…” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose you, too,” she whispered to the empty alleys, to the abandoned apartments, and to the whole, silent world.

But mostly to Cait, and she didn’t have an answer.

“Yeah, what I did was stupid,” Allison said a little louder. “But I saw a gun, and I thought, ‘If I lose you…’”

Cait listened and the city listened with her, and Allison didn’t need to say it, because Cait thought about it every day. With every bullet that whizzed past her ear, and she was always scared that it’d hit Allison instead, and in those moments, she realized taking a bullet for her might not be so crazy after all.

“I can’t lose you,” Allison said, and she was looking her in the eye without difficulty. “I saw a gun, so I shot them full of holes because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”

Cait nodded; she could understand that. The rush of adrenaline clouding her focus, pulling the trigger before she realized what she was doing. Yeah, Cait had done that before, and she could see herself doing it again if Allison were in a similar predicament.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen anyone shoot a man’s gun from his hand,” Cait said.

Allison let a small smile play across her face. “I don’t know why I didn’t kill them. Probably to avoid major conflict, I guess. A stimpack apiece would patch them up right as rain.”

“You punched a hole through that gal’s throat,” Cait remarked, stepping inward.

“Alright, maybe I was a little jealous,” Allison quipped hands traveling to Cait’s hips as Cait wrapped her arms around Allison’s neck.

Cait grinned like she always did when the tip of Allison’s nose tickled hers. “If you feel threatened by a scrawny sewer rat, I think that’s your problem, lover.”

Cait was glad it was such a short distance between their lips, and they kissed the stress away until there was nothing but a chorus of two heartbeats thudding to the same, measured tune.

 

**ooooo**

 

The ocean smelled rank and radioactive, and they had to fend off a nest of mirelurks just to claim their own spot on the sandy shore. But other than that, it was surprisingly pleasant. The crashing of the waves was peacefully deafening, and while Allison told of a time where seagulls’ squawks filled the air, Cait enjoyed the silence.

They loitered beneath the shade of an umbrella, even though the air was still hot and humid, and a blanket Allison had lugged from the house protected them from the possibility of sand in their pants. And while Cait enjoyed a great variety of things in her pants, sand was not one of them, and she was grateful Allison possessed the foresight.

Cait never expected something as bland as watching the foaming waves crash against the shore would be so captivating. It was something about the roar of the gnashing sea, or how wide and flat and blue the ocean was. Or maybe it was Allison’s rugged, dainty hand in hers. Yes, definitely that.

“This is nice,” Cait said.

Cait heard the smile in her voice. “I thought you’d be bored.”

“I’ve got you,” Cait said, and they gazed into each other’s eyes. Allison’s were always greener than Cait remembered, and it never failed to catch her breath. “What else would I need?”

Allison didn’t respond, content to stare and stare.

Something changed in her eyes. Gradually, like a wave leisurely climbing a sandy incline, and Cait didn’t know what it was. Not fear, or trepidation, but something almost like it.

“Would you stay with me forever?” Allison asked suddenly.

Cait frowned. “What?”

“If I asked you to stay with me until the end of time…” she asked, “…would you stay?”

Cait didn’t understand the question. It was too vague, or perhaps Cait did understand and she was simply at a loss for words.

But when Allison pulled it out and held it for Cait to see, Cait understood.

She understood perfectly well.

She turned her head away, because she couldn’t look her in the eyes. She was hallucinating; this was all a dream, because this type of thing? This type of thing only happened in dreams.

“Will you stay with me forever?” Allison asked, holding it out for everyone to see.

Cait covered her mouth with her hand, overcome with emotion, because things like this didn’t happen to people like her. People like her were destined for a life of misery in the gutters, cut short by disease or brutal violence.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her throat tightening, because she couldn’t believe herself capable of anything else other than tragedy. That was her life; tragedy after tragedy, wiping it from memory with chemicals that slowly killed her.

But in Allison’s hand, she held something else.

She held happiness and love and everything Cait didn’t deserve, but she offered it anyways.

She held promises and vows and everything Cait had only seen broken, but here it was whole.

She held the heaven they’d created in the palm of her hand, the world that Cait could only dream of, but it wasn’t a dream.

It was real.

It was bronze, and crudely crafted, and Cait didn’t know if it would fit, but it was the most beautiful thing Cait had ever seen.

Of course she took it.

With a trembling lips and tears cascading down her face, she nodded because she was speechless. She held out her hand and she let Allison, who was all too calm, slip it onto her ring finger, and then she looked at it. Wrapped around her finger and shining brighter than the sun. One word etched into the surface:

_Butterfly_.

And when Cait kissed her this time, straddled her lap and mashed her lips against Allison’s, shoved her tongue into her mouth, Cait tasted something she hadn’t tasted before: a future.

A future full of sunshine.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! As always, thanks for the praise and the kudos, and I'll see you in the final chapter!


	18. Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaagh! So sorry for the delay between chapters! This was supposed to be a quick epilogue to the story, but between life and writer’s block, I couldn’t get it into text.
> 
> Buuuuut, better late than never, right? Please enjoy this final chapter!

**Two Years Later**

 

Once upon a time, the albums stowed beneath the bed held pictures of the past. Of dead neighbors searing a steak on a ruby red grill out back. Of automobiles blurred from motion and airplanes just a speck in the sky. Of a handsome man wrapped around a beautiful woman wrapped around a swaddled bundle of cloth and curious, sparkling eyes.

Once upon a time, fingers ghosted longingly over the phantoms dressed in black and white. Over the strong jaw of the handsome man, up the reaching arm of the curious child, along the mushy, thin body of the beautiful woman. A perfect, happy family, but every single one of them was dead.

Once upon a time, Allison gazed down through the window to the days before they’d died, and she wished them farewell. Mourning what was, and what could’ve been, and when she looked in the mirror, the ghost of the beautiful woman stared back.

Once upon a time, the albums brought grief and nothing but.

But once upon a time was long ago.

Now the past perched on the top shelf of some closet, and in its place beneath the bed was a new album.

“New” was relative; grime, time, and fallout clung to the leather-bound cover, but the photographs were fresh and untainted, edges uncurled and crisp. Whereas the old album was of death and regret, this new one, the one in her lap, was of life and love. Of a house so well restored, she had trouble discerning this photo and the one in the other book. Of a scruffy mongrel wagging his tail and his tongue, head cocked at the cameraman. Of a robot butler with all its appendages and eye sprouts intact, a marvel on its own.

Of a woman with a face made for a smirking smile and hair so fiery orange, it singed the air around her. The color was indistinct in this black-and-white photo, but Allison’s memory filled in the details.

She’d never forget this woman. Her looks, her laugh, her soul that brought a tear to a supermutant’s eye.

But just in case she ever did, if by wildest chance she ever forgot how wonderful and lovely she was, she had this picture. Loads of them, actually, but this one in particular stood out to her; standing straight and tall, a sawed off dangling in her left hand, the straps of her backpack slung over her proud shoulders in her right. And a spark in her eyes that melted Allison’s heart.

And when she flipped the page and Cait was there, laying seductively in a variety of poses that brought a slight blush to her cheeks, something else melted.

“Rubbin’ one off to pictures of me?”

Allison looked up and smiled. Cait, as naked as could be, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed to emphasis her bust and grinning knowingly.

“One or two,” Allison replied, eyes darting to one very particular pose where Cait was spread for the world to see. “I’d try for more, but I’m still sore from yesterday.”

“Can’t do nothin’ about the soreness,” Cait said, and she stalked over to her, nudging the album aside, “but I can show you the real thing’s much more excitin’.”

Cait slid into her lap, and Allison’s hands roamed up the smooth expanse of Cait’s back when her tongue slithered into her mouth. She hummed; it was an overdose of Cait, her sweet taste, her soft touch, her smooth scent, and Allison’s head was swimming within seconds. But she didn’t dare let go; she’d rather die smothered like this than live without her.

“I like this no-clothes rule…” Allison mumbled, one hand kneading Cait’s ass while the other brushed up her thigh.

“I’d be inclined to agree,” Cait said, body pressing, hips rolling unconsciously, “but you’re still covered, darlin’.”

Cait pulled away and Allison followed her, mourning the loss of those plush smirking lips, but it was only so Cait could rip off Allison’s shirt. Cait tossed it away and before it hit the ground, they were together again.

Hearts quickened gleefully as Allison lowered herself to the bed, and from there it was a blur. Passionate kisses and heated looks and gentle moans that seemed to stretch for hours, and when they were a tangled mess of sweaty bodies and lethargic kisses, Allison glanced at a clock to confirm that it had, indeed, been hours.

Not long enough, she reckoned, but for now, simply holding her close and whispering all kinds of things into her eager ear would do.

Until Cait’s eyes sparkled and hands drifted to crotches and cocky grins faltered and more hours passed by in the blink of a fluttering eye.

**ooooo**

 

Allison was beautiful, and it frustrated Cait to no end that Allison didn’t seem to agree.

Perhaps it was that she wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense; Allison didn’t have long, blonde hair, a tiny waist, and a supple body, but what she did have was a built physique, eyes sharp enough to cut diamond, and a pretty face. And while Cait enjoyed the occasional helpless maiden, she preferred a woman with meat on her bones, someone who could punch and kick and snap a neck like it was a toothpick. Power and the smarts to use it; that was what Cait liked, and Allison had it in spades.

Allison padded into the room, footsteps softer than her locks of red hair tied off into a ponytail, and she leaned over something on the counter. She was completely naked, too, and Cait’s eyes raked unabashedly up her thighs thick with lean muscle.

She licked her lips. What a splendid sight to behold, but Cait would rather have them wrapped around her ears and shuddering than have them showing off their splendor all the way across the room. Sitting here in this armchair, Cait could almost taste her.

She noticed Cait staring from the corner of her eye, and Cait let a wicked grin crawl across her face. A sarcastically reproachful glare was her response, but Cait glimpsed her cheeks burn a slight tint of rosy red.

“Can’t really blame me for starin’, _darlin’_ ,” Cait called, voice as rich as her cunt was wet.

Allison faced her with a hand on her hip, leaning on the table and looking to scold Cait for her comment. But her eyes were twinkling and her lips were smiling impishly, and Cait’s gaze wandered between the cleavage of her full breasts, down her stomach, and locked onto the patch of curly, red hair spreading from her crotch.

Specifically the hint of her lips pinched between her thighs, and Cait absently chewed her nail. She could practically feel her hot folds melting around her tongue, and when she looked up, she let Allison see just how attractive she was in Cait’s heated eyes.

Cait curled her finger, and Allison sauntered with a hunter’s grace across the room. Cait watched her hips with a sensual sway in them, eyes unsure of what to devour first, so they locked onto the mouthwatering pussy striding toward her on two long legs.

Allison slipped into Cait’s lap, straddling her thighs and placing her arms on either side of Cait’s head. She reached out and took Allison’s hips with two hands, and she smiled in satisfaction as they roamed up her lusciously defined abs, palming up her belly taut with muscle.

When she reached her breasts and took two greedy handfuls, she looked up and Allison looked down.

Cait smiled, equal parts passionate and vulgar, and Allison fell right into her waiting trap.

“You’re gorgeous,” Cait said, and she looked down and watched Allison’s breasts swell as she squeezed them. “I could fuck you all day and never get enough of you.”

Allison chuckled. “You already do.”

“Exactly,” and Cait flashed a pornographic smile right before she leaned forward and took her breast into her mouth.

 

**ooooo**

 

The mattress springs creaked a metered tale of love, a sonnet of gasping breaths and slapping flesh and as the gorgeous playwright poured her ragged heart for all to hear, Allison had tickets for a front row seat.

“I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world, you know that?” Allison said as Cait bounced off her hips, swallowing the length of the strap-on to the hilt.

Cait, lost in her own pleasure, could only spare a brief flash of a dopey smile before her face was claimed by lust again.

So Allison smiled for her, beaming on her back while Cait leaned forward, hands pressing into Allison’s belly for support. Cait glimpsed Allison through eyelids that fluttered open and shut, open and shut, and her cheeks and chest flushed a darker, more brazen shade of red.

Cait was controlled, at first. A steady rise and fall of her hips, slick sounds as the purple length sucked into her slick cunt. Wicked grins and heated stares, throwing her arms above her head and grinding her hips in voluptuously drawn-out strokes. Putting on a show, riling Allison up until the mere friction of the strap-on’s leather holster against her clit drove her mad.

Then Allison’s hands became curious, and after it became perfectly clear that Allison preferred real, raw reactions rather than this forced lap dance, Cait’s cool, dominative façade fell to pieces shortly after.

Now she was freely enjoying herself, strokes short and quick, soft, pale flesh sweaty and hot beneath Allison’s groping palms, eyes shut and mouth agape and panting. She was milking the dildo for all it was worth, fingernails marking Allison’s abdomen with reckless abandon, and Allison loved it.

The scoring scars were evidence of this moment of unrestrained passion, proof that Cait didn’t give a damn about looking sexy, but that just made her sexier. The hot, heavy breaths, the wild slap of her hips colliding harshly against the harness, the saliva trailing from the corner of her slack-jawed mouth; no prettied-up actor faking moans for views could ever match how hotly Cait fucked the dildo.

And Cait fucked the dildo alright, selfishly taking all of its delicious, sloppy friction it had to offer.

“You’re so sexy,” Allison whispered with the same reverence for Cait as a nun would her god. “You’re sexier than, than…” but Allison’s attention was too rapt on the goddess before her, and she dumbly said, “than everything.”

It was lame, and it couldn’t possibly convey how Allison’s every perverse thought revolved around the woman bouncing on top of her, but Cait still smiled dopily, giggling so sweetly that Allison couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you,” Allison said, and Cait grunted, speed fluctuating because it felt so good.

“Love ya… too,” Cait panted, “Sunshine… _fuck_ … _fuck_ …”

Cait’s breasts jounced with every motion, pale globes sweaty like her slick abs, and Allison looked lower.

The purple cock was homemade, because Allison didn’t trust a two-hundred year-old piece of plastic that was, for all she knew, radioactive. So she’d fashioned one from plastic and gel and a mold, and she’d made it thick, because Cait like ‘em thick. Thick and long, and Allison knew Cait loved the way it stretched her wide, because it was doused in arousal. Glazed in gloppy fluid like a donut, dripping down the shaft and smearing each time Cait’s pussy pounded against the leather, and warm fluid drizzled down Allison’s thighs.

“You’re so wet…” Allison said, eyes fixed on where the dildo noisily slid into Cait’s sopping walls. “You fucking love this don’t you?”

“ _I fuckin’ love you_ ,” Cait gasped in a single breath, and a bashful smile spread across Allison’s lips. The most direct way to Cait’s heart seemed to be her cunt, and Allison knew just how to work it to make everything come pouring out.

Allison watched Cait bounce off the dildo like she had so many times before, and like every time before, she never tired of how honestly Cait expressed her pleasure.

And also like every time before, Allison grew too restless to just watch.

Her roaming hands settled on Cait’s bobbing hips, and she watched and waited for just the right time. Cait rose for another stroke, and as she slid down the shaft, Allison thrusted her hips. Cait wasn’t expecting to feel every inch of the thick dildo slide into her like it did, and she choked a whimper, almost collapsed forward onto Allison, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed as she focused on staving off the orgasm.

A still second passed, and then Cait rasped hungrily, “ _More…_ ”

And Cait raised her hips, and as she came down, Allison pushed up, and Cait whimpered again. She was choking on air, but she forced her body to obey, and she raised her hips again, and Allison pushed it deep into her.

The pace slowed after that, focused more on long, slow strokes that slid every fat inch of the cock against her walls, and Allison ended up doing most of the thrusting as Cait grew closer and closer.

Allison didn’t mind. Not when she could listen to Cait’s gasps and whimpers, not when she could watch Cait’s cunt slurp up the phallus to the hilt, then frost the whole length as Allison pulled it out until it gripped only the bulbous tip. Then the thick length pushed up and in, and then down and out. Up and in, down and out. A steady, mild pace as she thrust her hips rhythmically. Fucking Cait with the thick purple cock, and Cait fucked her back.

Cait came without warning, her whole body suddenly freezing up, and her thighs quivered and her eyes clamped shut, and she could finally take no more. She collapsed forward, thrown into wild spasms.

Without skipping a single stroke, Allison wrapped her arms around her and flipped her onto her back and fucked her through the orgasm. Wave after wave overwhelmed Cait, cunt pulsing around the cock that stretched her wide and deep, legs locking around Allison’s waist so she’d keep supplying that delicious friction deep into her core, but Allison would never think of stopping.

Not when Cait choked her name over and over, whimpered pathetically into Allison’s ear as she ground up into her body.

The orgasm was long and hard, Cait grinding her hips down onto the strap-on for more friction until the blistering, blissful pleasure that wracked her body slowly bled into warmth and cuddles, and Allison gradually ground to a halt.

Basking in the afterglow, Cait nuzzled sweetly into Allison’s locks, her calves gently resting on Allison’s lower back, hands softly rubbing Allison’s shoulder blades. She smiled; Cait was softest after a long session of steamy sex, and it wasn’t unusual for Cait to fall asleep beneath the warm, comfortable weight of her lover’s body.

When Cait was just beggining to drift away, Allison began slow, passionate thrusts, and Cait moaned.

“I’m gonna be so sore…” Cait said.

Allison’s reaction was song. One of Cait’s favorites.

It was about sunshine and happiness and love, a soft, slow melody that sent warm butterflies flitting through Cait’s tummy, and the sex was just the same. Soft and slow, all sunshine and love and happiness. Slick bodies moving lazily against each other, tender moans and passionate, slow, labored breaths.

One orgasm blended into another, blissful warmth pooling in Cait’s core as she shuddered again and again.

Until she whispered deliriously into Allison’s ear, “I love you.”

Then, and only then, did the melody pause. A satisfied hum.

“I love you, too, butterfly.”

And then the melody resumed and they drowned happily in all the love they made that lazy afternoon.

 

**ooooo**

 

In a sense, the Commonwealth was akin to a pack of rabid dogs. Eternally ravenous, eager for flesh to sate is hungers and blood to quench its thirsts. It hunted the weak, tore them to shreds, and gobbled them up until there was nothing left but a stinking corpse. Farmer’s daughters, lonely wanderers, men of evil, men of good; it didn’t’ care who it killed. As long as there was meat to feast on, not much else mattered.

It came for everyone eventually. It came for Nate, and it ripped him to pieces and tossed the leftovers in the fridge for later. It came for Allison, but it took her baby boy instead. It came for Cait.

Oh, how it lusted for Cait. It took her childhood, her innocence, and just when she thought she was in the clear, it took everything else she had. Left her mauled body for dead in the middle of a forest full of scavengers.

But Cait wrapped her wounds, used her own chunks of flesh as bait to draw away the wolves, and _survived_. In the end, that was all that mattered.

It came for her again when it learned she still walked the wastes, but she was ready for them. This time, it was the one that ran. It came for her when she was sleeping, but Cait slept with a gun. It came for her when she wasn’t expecting it, but Cait _always_ expected it. It came for her under the guise of love, but Cait felt no love, only lust.

It never stopped coming for Cait, and its failed attempts only made her stronger. The will to survive burning with as much fiery intensity as her hair, she traded soft flesh for scarred leather, womanly curves for hard-packed muscle, and anxious, green eyes for poisoned shards of emerald. She traded love for hate, naiveté for shotgun shells, and what doubts and insecurities she harbored for a killer’s instinct.

When it came for Cait in Diamond City, Allison was too busy bargaining with the merchant to notice the three men sweeping through the crowded hub, eyes hidden behind shades and right hands stuffed into their grey trench coats.

A commotion raised somewhere behind Takahashi’s noodle stand, a familiar voice shouting out, and Allison’s instinct flared. When Dogmeat’s ears perked worriedly, Allison knew Cait was in trouble.

Allison was halfway there when the first gunshot erupted. Her pistol was out in a flash, Dogmeat’s fangs bared, and another gunshot echoed from the corrugated walls. She fought her way through the swell of fleeing city-goers, pushing and shoving violently until she burst out on the other side.

Two bodies clad in trench coats lay on their backs in the mud, faces brutally rearranged by a cluster of pellets. A third man wearing the same garb struggled to wrench a gun from someone standing between his dead pals.

The light of battle casting upon Cait’s face ignited the gloom, and she was so intense, she was on fire. A pocketknife was lodged in her flank, but she didn’t seem to notice. Allison took aim with her pistol, but before she could squeeze the trigger, Cait twisted the weapon in such a way that it torqued the man’s wrist, and the moment she was free of his grasp, she smacked him with the butt of her sawed-off.

He hit the ground hard, his shattered shades dangling from his face, and he immediately scrambled on his hands and knees for his weapon a few strides away.

Half a dozen of the city’s security guards filtered through the alleyways, yelling commands and threatening to shoot, but Cait didn’t have a care in the world. She jammed fresh shells into the chamber of her shotgun and casually approached her next victim who’d just reached his pistol laying in a puddle.

His hand wrapped around the grip, but he froze when the double barrels pressed against the rear of his skull. He turned his head slowly around.

The guards shouted, and more reinforcements arrived. They were impressively timely, but Allison supposed they would be in a city where gunfights were in more supply than happy demeanors. Cait ignored them.

The man stared up at Cait with eyes both frightened and frustrated. Frustrated that three men with the element of surprise couldn’t finish the job. Frustrated that he had to die here of all places, where the sky was overcast and the ground was wet and muddy. Cait grinned a wicked grin, eager for another kill.

But that wasn’t why she grinned. It had taken Allison a long time to understand why Cait grinned when she killed. It wasn’t out of bloodlust, or some sick desire to inflict pain.

Because truth be told, Cait hated killing. That part of her refused to die, that squeamishness towards violence still picking at her with every blow dealt with her chain-wrapped swatter. It was a late night confession some time ago where Cait revealed this, that the people she killed haunted her dreams. She did because she had to, she’d insisted, to _survive_.

So no, it wasn’t with murderous glee with which she grinned; it was with victory. She’d defeated it- the Commonwealth, the rabid dogs- once again. It had come for her, and still it was too weak to defeat her. It was a grin of triumph, a grin of confidence, her way of saying, “Not today, fuckers. Not today.”

Because in the end, all that mattered was that she’d _survived_.

The blast tore his brains from his skull, and as his body went through the death spasms, Cait reloaded her weapon.

The guards might’ve opened fire had Allison not stepped between them and their target. Dogmeat’s intimidating presence kept them at bay while Allison attended to Cait.

“What happened?” Allison asked.

Cait wiped specks of gore from her forehead. “Fucker’s stabbed me in the back while I wasn’t lookin’.”

Allison moved deliberately so as not to startle Cait, whose trigger rush was just starting to recede. She holstered her pistol and gently turned her around until she could get a good view of the knife in her side. The blade was short, buried halfway into her ribcage.

“A stimpack will do,” Allison muttered mostly to herself, retrieving one from her bag. The guards seemed to understand what Allison was doing, but they were still wary nonetheless. “Hide your weapon away, you’re making them nervous.”

“Damn right, they should be!” Cait said, but she followed her orders without protest. After years of companionship, Cait finally seemed to understand that arguing with Allison was pointless. Allison chuckled.

“What?” Cait asked.

“Nothing,” Allison said, “just hold still.”

She injected Cait with the stim, waited the required fifteen seconds, and then carefully removed the blade. The blood had already coagulated by the time Allison leaned in to check it.

“It’ll hurt like a son-of-a-bitch for the next half hour, but you’ll be fine,” Allison said.

Cait twisted around, stepping in close. “Where would I be without you?” she said playfully.

“Dead,” Allison replied factually.

“Pfft,” Cait said. “You’ve got no faith in me.”

“I have all the faith in the world in you,” Allison said, and the sudden sincerity of her statement drew a slight blush from Cait’s cheeks.

“That’s well and good and all,” said a guard to the side of them, “but you know I gotta take you in, right?”

Cait grumbled something, glaring at the man, and Allison took her chin between her thumb and forefinger and gently pulled Cait’s attention back on her. “I’m gonna go wrap up our errands, and then I’ll come back for you. Alright?”

Cait grumbled moodily.

“ _Alright?_ ”

Cait sighed. “Whatever. Just don’t expect-.”

Allison stole her words away with a kiss. Allison wasn’t particularly comfortable with public displays like this, but she figured with tensions so high, they both needed it. Cait’s hostilities melted away like she melted in Allison’s arms.

They parted shortly after, heartbeats comfortably beating against each other’s breasts.

“I’ll be right back,” Allison said.

“Tease,” Cait said playfully, but she stole one last, quick kiss, and she slid from her arms.

Allison watched her lover leave with an escort armed with baseball bats, umpire vests, and three, partially-headless bodies. People began to sift through the cracks, and soon enough, the hub’s supply of sad faces had replenished. Allison found the trader she’d been talking to and resumed their argument over the value of a can-opener.

She was quick with her remaining duties, walking away with a sizeable amount of caps, and then she made her way to the security office.

It was a repurposed dugout, and when she stepped into the room lit by only a floodlight and some flickering lamps, the air was so dank and thick, it hit her like a brick wall. The whole placed smelled like piss, puke, and liquor, and when Allison considered how most of the delinquents locked in the cell were slouched over or otherwise passed out, she could imagine why.

There was a single, communal cell, and Allison spotted Cait on the other side.

Cait, who’d been resting with her eyes closed, opened them, and that signature smirk crept across her face. She stretched as Allison neared, stood as Allison spoke softly to a guard, and walked with swaggering hips over to the bars and rested her chin on a crossbar, arms propped above her head. Allison leaned against the cell wall and Dogmeat bothered the guards with requests to play.

“How many times is this, now?” Allison asked with feigned exasperation.

“Four,” Cait said with a smug grin, “if you’re countin’ that time I got pissed and punched ol’ Yankee Doodle’s lights out.” Cait nodded to the guard. “So what’s the situation?”

Allison sighed. “You’re one hell of an expensive date, you know.”

Cait snorted. “Then this is the shittiest date I’ve ever been on.”

“Is that a challenge?” Allison prodded playfully.

“Not if you wanna keep me,” Cait shot back.

Allison smiled, reaching out to affectionately run her fingers across Cait’s cheek. “And we wouldn’t that, now, would we?”

Cait smiled in return, but for some reason, twinges of anxiety kept it from reaching her eyes. “I love you,” she said suddenly, voice hushed.

“Uh huh,” Allison said with a knowing grin, “the one time I can squeeze an ‘I love you’ out of you just so happens to coincide with your need of bail money. Maybe I should have you locked up more often?”

“Fuck you,” Cait said with a snarl, “and I say it all the bloody time!”

Cait did, in fact, say it all the bloody time. That was the point of the joke.

Allison frowned, leaning in closer. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothin’s wrong,” Cait lied badly. She looked around apprehensively, saying, “Just get me outta this goddamned cage.”

Allison cocked her head, studying Cait’s eyes flitting from the lamps to the guards to the floor and everything except Allison. Realization dawned on her.

“I won’t abandon you.”

Cait’s brow furrowed. “The hell you goin’ on about?”

“You’re scared I’m going to leave you here, aren’t you?” Allison asked.

Cait’s answer was to grumble and avoid eye contact. Cait had a habit of biting her lip when she was nervous, and now, she was gnawing on it ferociously.

Allison looked to the guard behind them. “Here,” she said, tossing a bundle of caps jingling in a purse, “let her out.”

Cait looked relatively relieved when Allison turned back to her, but Allison guessed that Cait would only be satisfied when she was outside of the cell. The man whistled, and another guard disappeared somewhere to retrieve the keys.

Meanwhile, Allison took Cait’s cheeks into her hands and stared into her eyes until Cait stared into hers. “I’m _not_ leaving you here, understand? You’re…” the truth winded her every time she realized it, “everything I have. I won’t ever leave you behind.”

Her lover seemed to see that she was truthful, but years of broken promises had her skeptical. Thankfully, Allison knew the cure to that.

The kiss was slow and much too passionate for the amount of company they had, but the drunks were drunk and the guards weren’t paying attention, so Allison continued nonplussed. When Cait’s tongue slipped between her lips, Allison sighed, satisfied with her work.

Lips separated with a wet smack, but hands didn’t untangle from mops of hair and slither back through the bars until the rattling of the cell door sliding open reverberated through the metal.

“I’ll give you a proper kiss when I get out,” were Cait’s parting words, and Allison grinned. Seconds later, Cait was at her side, where she belonged.

But she realized that was wrong as they passed through the door and entered the cool dimness of the outdoors. As Cait’s arms wrapped around Allison’s neck and Allison’s around Cait’s waist. As noses brushed and heartbeats quickened and smiles pressed against smiles.

_This_ was where Cait belonged.

 

**ooooo**

“God dammit, stop steppin’ on me feet!”

“Then God dammit, move your feet,” Allison replied evenly.

Something pleasantly slow filtered from the holotape player in the living room, something Allison didn’t recognize. It had a nice, unobtrusive tune, and the beat was perfect for what they were doing, feet gliding- or stumbling- across the floor. Codsworth whirred between rooms, faithfully committing himself to the mundane while Dogmeat romped about outside, and with the calm melody, Allison could almost forget the apocalypse.

“Ow! That was me bad toe!”

Allison sighed. This was supposed to be romantic.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you, an ex-pit fighter, would have two left feet when it comes to dancing.”

Cait frowned, angling her head down to try to get a glimpse of her feet. “Between knockin’ heads and knockin’ up fans, there wasn’t a whole lotta time for tango,” Cait grumbled.

“Eyes up here,” Allison said.

Cait followed directions, though begrudgingly so, and stared at Allison’s collarbone. Her gaze flickered up to Allison’s eyes every now and then, trying and failing to hide her embarrassment at her own ineptitude behind a grumpy scowl.

The current song petered out, replaced by the quiet, rolling thunder of sax and a man’s rich voice, and Allison switched up their stance.

“Step in closer,” Allison said, pulling Cait flush to her chest. “Put your arms here, and-.”

“I know, I know,” Cait interjected, annoyed.

But Cait didn’t know, and her hands were in the wrong position and her feet were too wide apart and there were a handful of other cardinal sins Cait was committing, but Allison just sighed, adjusted her hold, and commenced a waltz at an easy pace.

Cait struggled initially in keeping herself from tripping up, but, as was always the case when Cait was thrown into a wildly unfamiliar situation, she adapted, and soon their feet glided over the carpet of the living room, tapped across the linoleum of the kitchen, and mindlessly explored the layout while the holotape player cycled through the tracks.

Hands clasped and half extended, Allison’s eyes settled on the pair of matching rings on their ring fingers.

They were dark, diamondless bands of metal, crude and yet not nearly as crude as they could’ve been. They were homemade by Allison herself, because looting a professionally-crafted piece of jewelry from the abandoned mall down south was too impersonal and cheap. And Cait was anything but impersonal and cheap.

Allison would remember the wedding until the end of time.

_The air smelled like burnt decay and the sun was blisteringly hot, but that was normal, and it bothered none of them. They had no real friends or family to speak of, so the only audience was Dogmeat who didn’t understand what was happening, but he was happy nonetheless. Codsworth was there in a bowtie and clutching a bible- he was the Minister- and Cait…_

_Through God’s grace, Allison managed to convince Cait into a dress, and she was so glad she did because beautiful didn’t begin to describe her. Cait was gorgeous with or without clothes, but the way the short, white fabric accentuated her curves and how the ghost of a veil whispering over her face made her appear ethereal all had Cait looking like a goddess with fire for hair._

_Or maybe it was the way her cheeks blushed madly and how her brilliant, emerald eyes sparkled and how she couldn’t stop smiling, shyly, happily smiling. Come to think of it, it was probably that._

_Vows were said. Rings were slipped onto fingers. Lips were joined, hearts were bound, and happy tears were shed down porcelain cheeks. A wife was carried home from a lonely hill with a view, and love was consummated again and again and again on a bed they would share until they would die._

Cait’s head came to rest on her neck, her lips pressed to Allison’s collarbone, and all of her grouchy tension was nowhere to be found. Allison smiled, burrowing her lips into Cait’s fiery locks; Cait had to run out of steam eventually, and she’d learned that griping got her nowhere with Allison.

The dance was autonomous, simply an excuse to enjoy the feeling of touch from their lover, and as the holotape ran dry of songs and oozed the melody of comfortable silence, the waltz continued unhindered.

Finally, after a small eternity, their movements stilled.

Allison’s hand crawled up and under Cait’s shirt, trailing limp fingers up and down her spine. Cait’s breath hitched in response, unconsciously pulling Allison closer into her, one leg wrapping around her lover’s.

The changes were subtle and gradual, but Allison had developed a keen sense of Cait’s subtleties. Calves rubbing against calves, hips pressed flush to hips, fingers running desperately slow strokes through Allison’s hair… And then Cait raised her head from Allison’s shoulder and she said not a word and gave hardly a glance before she pressed lips to lips. Seconds later, Cait’s tongue slipped into her mouth and deftly applied her love, subtleties, and not-so-subtitles to everywhere she could fit them.

To Allison, this was wholly satisfying, but to Cait, it was not; this was her way of begging without words, because even after the late-night conversations and the post-coital conversations and the mid-embrace conversations, she was too stubborn to simply ask.

Oh well. They had to a long time to work on it.

In one quick movement, Allison lowered, pulled Cait’s bare legs around her waist, and stood. Cait made a noise like a moan, only shorter and breathier, and her whole body relaxed. She said nothing when the kiss parted, just licked traces of Allison from her lips, and nuzzled her face into the crook of Allison’s neck.

Allison navigated the hallway with ease, and when she entered their room, she gently lay Cait to the bed. Allison sat up, Cait’s legs straddling her waist, hips to hips, and she was glad they only wore t-shirts and panties because she could feel Cait’s dampness on her own, and that was a magical feeling all by itself.

Cait lay before her, arms above her head, belly peeking from the waistline of her ruffled shirt, tantalizing Allison’s taste buds with thoughts of devouring her sexy tummy. Hair splayed, eyes adoring, completely vulnerable and relaxed, and a rage boiled up in Allison’s stomach.

Who could hurt someone so lovely? Who could dare lay hands on something so precious and wonderful and abuse it for their own needs? Who could look into those eyes, those green, deliciously expressive eyes, and continue to mangle and bruise and carve into something without a hint of grief? Sickness welled in her stomach, she was so furious, and she needed Cait before she boiled over.

She reached out and cautiously stroked Cait’s cheek, cupped her face with a gentle reverence like she might break, and the rage was gone. Replaced by something warmer in her chest, and the soft, needy heat in Cait’s eyes stoked the fire.

Allison’s thumb brushed Cait’s lips, and Cait took it into her mouth, caressing it with her eager tongue. Eyes never left eyes, not when Allison’s palm traveled under Cait’s shirt and began its journey. Her flesh was so soft and smooth, and when she reached Cait’s breast, she kneaded her tenderly.

Cait’s eyes closed, head pushing back into the pillow, mouth just slightly agape while Allison did everything right, and Allison pulled her thumb from her mouth. She trailed her free hand down Cait’s body, her own saliva painting a faint, shimmering trail across her skin.

She pressed two fingers to Cait’s panty-clad clit, and she twitched as Allison circled.

But Cait needed it, and counter to teasing her to madness, Allison needed to give it to her just as badly. So she nudged Cait’s panties aside, pressed two fingers to her wet folds, and pushed inside her.

Breathing was difficult for both of them; for Cait, because Allison’s fingers slipped inside and pleasured her like no one else could, and for Allison, because her fingers were enveloped with tight, wet warmth and because Cait was gorgeous.

Sinful words spilled from breathy lips and sinful noises and fluids spilled from hotter, wetter lips, and Allison watched as unbridled passion slowly consumed Cait’s body. Her pale, white skin burned a sultry red, her nipples stiffened between Allsion’s fingers, and her whole, curvy figure shuddered and shivered and trembled.

Allison’s eyes devoured every detail, fingers working with a mind of their own because she’d fucked this wonderful creature so many times, the curls and the twists and the plunging thrusts were muscle memory.

Allison leaned down and let her body rest on Cait’s because she couldn’t stand being so far away from her lover when she was crying her name over and over. Cait’s body was delicious beneath her, and as Cait gasped her name and bucked and rolled and as the hot friction of their bodies scorched her, Allison need to express what she was feeling.

She needed an outlet, needed Cait to know that she was so, so special and that everything she did drove her mad with want and need and love.

But all she could think of was, “ _My God, I fucking love you_ ,” breathed into Cait’s ear.

Cumming loudly all over her hand was Cait’s response.

 

**ooooo**

 

Allison sang in her sleep. Actually, it was more of a soft hum than anything else, easily mistakable for a series of grunts brought on by dreams, but Cait recognized the tune.

Allison did that sometimes: singing thoughtlessly, staring at something Cait couldn’t see.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Cait would ask.

Whatever Allison was looking at would prance away from view, and she’d turn to Cait with a smile and say, “Nothing much.”

But Cait knew the truth. She was thinking about older times, times so wildly different from now that Cait could only imagine what they were like. Where the grass was green, and the trees had leaves. Where law and order existed, and no one worried about being gunned down on their way to work. Where Nate lived and breathed, and Shaun was Allison’s little, baby boy swaddled in blankets beneath his rocket-ship mobile.

There was no advantage to jealousy, but Cait couldn’t help but feel stitches of green in moments like these. She couldn’t ask Allison to just forget about them; that was incredibly selfish even by Cait’s standards. And yet, a part of Cait couldn’t stand the thought of Allison pining for someone else. It hurt deep in her chest, a tightness growing like cancer through her lungs, up her spine, and into her thoughts.

Cait tried to smother her mind with the pillow, but that wasn’t working, so she twisted around, careful not to disturb Allison, until she was face-to-face with the woman she couldn’t get enough of.

Allison slept soundly despite the slivers of sunshine drifting through the curtains that would usually herald her awakening. Over recent years, they found themselves sleeping in later and later, and Cait couldn’t complain when Allison’s face was her first image of the morning and Allison’s body was her first touch of warmth for the day. Normally, Cait was the last to rise, but it seemed Cait’s efforts of that night had thoroughly knocked her out.

Blessed with the privilege of rising earlier, Cait reached up and sank her fingers into Allison’s hair. Refreshingly cool and unbelievably soft, as always.

The humming stopped. Cait’s fingers did not.

Moments later, Allison’s sleepy eyes slowly blinked open and settled on Cait.

Cait said nothing at first, allowing Allison a chance to rub her eyes clear of sleep. Only when Allison resettled into her position did Cait ask, “How’d you sleep?”

Her smile was vibrant. “Pretty good. How about you?”

“Pretty good.” Cait’s hand migrated to her lover’s jaw. “Who were you singin’ to?” she asked innocently, but she knew what the answer would be.

“You,” Allison said with a guilty smile, and that wasn’t what Cait expected.

And then Allison was pulling Cait in, and she was wrapped in strong arms, warmth, and guilt.

“What do you wanna do today?” Allison asked.

Cait groaned. “It’s too early to think.”

“Alright,” Allison said, “then we’ll just have to stay here until then.”

Cait didn’t object. She snuggled closer, if that was possible, and squeezed her head beneath her lover’s. All she could see, smell, touch, and taste was Allison, and it was here in this cocoon of warmth that it struck her.

How far had she come?

Cait remembered her room when she was just a child. It was candle-lit, musty, and smelled like unwashed sheets and rotting food. She lived in the basement, after all, relegated to a place where they didn’t have to look at her every day. The only comfort she knew was a rusted Giddyup Buttercup doll missing its hind leg, a treasure she’d found and smuggled inside on one of the few occasions that her parent’s allowed her to see some sunshine.

They crushed it before her watering eyes and beat her half unconscious with it when they discovered her unpermitted possession of a comfort toy, of course, but they couldn’t take away her imagination; her young, desperate self could at least imagine what a caring touch felt like.

Then the raiders came and took her away. She remembered that, too. She wished she didn’t.

She was allotted a cell with a cold, metal floor where the sunshine couldn’t reach. It wasn’t big enough to house the twelve other girls sharing the cell with her, and they had to sleep in shifts because there wasn’t enough room for them all to lay down at the same time.

The men were treated like animals, thrown into pits to fight to the death, and the women were nothing more than toys. Nothing more than a quick release of pent-up frustration and hormones. Cait learned the hard way how pretty she was.

But Cait also learned how fierce she was. When they threw women into the pits, they did it as a sick joke. Toss a mouse into a cage with a cat, but Cait wasn’t a mouse; she was a rat. A cornered rat, the most dangerous kind. She killed the cat, and the one that came after that, and the one that came after that, and soon, the only reason the gang hadn’t sold her or killed was her prowess in the ring.

That was all she had, then. No comfort, no bed, no nothing. Just her survival instincts and a kill count. As long as she won, she would survive.

And then, one day, she had her freedom.

However, it didn’t come alone. A sort of two-for-one bundle she always saw in peeling, Pre-War advertisements. Freedom and _addiction_.

_That_ was all she had. Mind-destroying, teeth-yellowing, unquenchable addiction. Forget survival; she’d do anything for another hit. She’d even start fighting again if it meant she could forget it all with a pop and a hiss.

_Sitting in an alleyway, gritty water tinged with blood flowing down the floor toward the street. The chipped cement was cold, as were the grimy walls and the stale air, but she didn’t care. Cait didn’t have a damn to give about anything. Not the cold, not the blood, not the body of the junkie beaten to a pulp less than a stride away. Not the fact that this was the third dealer she’d killed in four months due to a supposed “lack of supply.”_

_All she cared about was the anger and the rage surging through her limbs, washing away everything but a delicious, fiery red. All she cared about was the needle in her arm, and that the emptiness inside her was finally filled with something._

A druggie with nothing to lose, but nothing to win. Nothing to live for. No purpose. Just needles, violence, and a grief for something for some reason that she didn’t understand. A waste of skin.

Three years pass.

Here she was. In a warm bed in a warm house, cuddling with someone warm that made Cait feel warm. She had something- someone- to live for. All butterflies, sunshine, and a happiness that Cait never thought she’d have.

She had love.

“Sunshine?” she whispered.

“Yeah, Butterfly?”

“… I love you, Alli.”

The hand holding Cait’s upper back began a soothing massage as light as an angel’s kiss. “I love you, too, Cait.”

“Alli?”

“Yes, Cait?”

“… Could you sing for me?”

“Anything for you, Cait,” Allison said. “Anything for you.”

To a dulcet tune that sounded like honey and warm, buttered bread tasted, Cait drifted off in the arms of an angel, smothered by sunshine and a love that was delightfully hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, it’s finally done.
> 
> It’s messy, cheesy, wildly inconsistent, and butchers some of the themes I intended to weave into the story, but it’s mine, and I created it. Again, I’m super sorry for the ridiculous amount of time it took to make this. 
> 
> I want to sincerely, genuinely, from the deepest depths of my heart, thank everyone who read this far, and I would also like to thank everyone who favorited or followed this story of mine. Special, uber thanks to all of you who took the time to review this; I do it for you as well as myself, you know!  
> For those interested, I plan on starting another story in the same universe as this one. However, it will be more of a spiritual successor than a straight-up sequel, mostly because I don’t like what I did with certain characters in this story.
> 
> Well, that’s about all I had to say. It’s been a wild ride, one I’ve enjoyed greatly and one I hope you enjoyed as well. See ya next time!


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